Harry Potter and the Simulacrum Seal
by Mortalus
Summary: Seventh year. Harry, Ron and Hermione are out to destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes. Order members are being targeted, the Ministry isn't on anyone's side but its own, and Voldemort has plans to achieve true immortality that may involve Harry ...
1. Beyond Reach

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any part of the _Harry Potter_ novels or their characters, and I am making no profit from the distribution of this story.  
**Spoilers:** Spoilers up to and including Half-Blood Prince.  
**Warnings: **Rated T for character death, psychological torture, run-of-the-mill torture, and violence.  
**Author's Note:** I hope you enjoy the first chapter of my new fanfic, _Harry Potter and the Simulacrum Seal_. I won't hound you for reviews, but they _are_ kind of nice. Constructive criticism is especially appreciated. Kudos to my beta reader, Clara Minutes, for her assistance :)**_  
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**_Chapter One: Beyond Reach_**

Harry awoke with a start as a bumblebee stung him in the nose. He shuffled his arm out of his sleeping bag and pressed it to his face, which felt fine; it had been a dream.

He sleepily looked about the room, initially confused about where he was. Then he recalled that he was at the Dursleys' house on the floor of the spare bedroom. Ron's arm was hanging down near Harry's head from the bed next to him. Hermione was asleep in Harry's bedroom down the hall. He could hear the distant sound of Dudley snoring, and the less distant sound of Uncle Vernon snoring. The room was not as dark as it had been when Harry went to bed; it was the twilight of morning.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed softly. Even by the standards of his visits to the Dursleys', this one had been spectacularly unpleasant. It had only lasted two nights; he would have left within the first hour if Hermione hadn't insisted that Harry ought to stay at least a full day to make sure that the protection magic didn't wear off. Harry had argued that they didn't know if he was protected at all outside the house once he left, no matter how long he stayed, but he had yielded in the end; he suspected Hermione was trying, in her way, to be polite to the Dursleys.

They certainly hadn't returned the favour. He was not keen to get up and face the Dursleys that morning, though at least he'd never see them again afterwards, as he, Ron, and Hermione were departing after breakfast. _Maybe we could depart before_, Harry thought. _It's not as though they'll miss seeing me off. The only reason I came at all is because Dumbledore wanted me to._

The thought of Dumbledore made his eyelids even heavier from tiredness. He couldn't stand to think about it anymore, so he went back to thinking about the Dursleys and how inexcusably, yet predictably, rude they had been to his friends since they got off the Hogwarts Express.

The train ride itself had been quiet since so many students had already been taken away by their families. It had seemed longer than any journey from Hogwarts had before. Harry had spent most of the time with his head leaning against the window; Ron and Hermione had been almost as subdued, holding hands and leaning against each other.

Harry's occasional glances at them had stabbed painfully at the wound in his chest that had opened when he broke up with Ginny and was not wholly healed. She had been in another compartment, having stayed more within her own group of friends since their break-up. From the few words and looks they had exchanged since, Harry didn't think Ginny was angry with him; it was just easier to live with their choice when they weren't around each other so much.

Still, the distance between them was hard to bear after their few happy weeks together, even though Harry knew it was for the best.

Then the train had stopped at King's Cross, and several Order members had greeted them when they got off. Ron had told his mum and dad that he was going with Harry to the Dursleys, Hermione had told her parents, and then Tonks had led them over to a car surrounded by a handful of the Order.

Uncle Vernon, surrounded by witches and wizards, had swallowed any protests rolling through his mind; his face had turned a deep shade purple, and his teeth had clenched, but he had been silent. Harry still didn't know how they had all managed to fit in the car, but managed they had, and he wondered if Hermione – now considered an adult witch by wizarding law, and therefore allowed to cast spells outside of school – may have cast a surreptitious charm or two to make it work. At least the Dursleys had left Dudley at home.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been silent for the entire journey to number four, Privet Drive. It had been much like the train, except for the palpable fury exuded by Uncle Vernon. He had turned every corner sharply and the wheels had screeched at least a half dozen times before they made it to their destination, at which point both his aunt and uncle had opened the car doors immediately after the engine shut off, slammed them shut, and made for the house without a word.

Ron hadn't been taken aback by this behaviour, but Hermione's eyes had been wide with shock, following the Dursleys until they had entered the house and shut the door.

'They're like this all the time, remember?' Harry had said to her. It had been the first time he had spoken for several hours, and the hoarseness of his voice had made it sound as though he were hurt by the Dursleys' actions even to his own ears.

The hostilities had only escalated. Dudley had been disgusted by the presence of even more 'freaks' than usual, and had been very vocal about it until Ron, also of age and irritated by Hermione's discomfort, had pointed his wand at him, which sent him scurrying away. Uncle Vernon simply left the room whenever they entered it; he didn't even eat with them. Harry wished Dudley could be as invisible at mealtimes, but he still ate a good three quarters of whatever was put on the table, leaving little more than scraps for him and his friends.

Aunt Petunia seemed less angry than sad, but she was just as quiet as Uncle Vernon, and Harry didn't particularly care about her feelings. Normally, Harry would be delighted by the silent treatment from the Dursleys, but with his friends staying over, he found it deeply embarrassing.

'You awake?' Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry opened his eyes, slipping out of his unpleasant reverie. 'Yeah.'

Ron turned over and looked down at him. 'Think we could leave before breakfast?' he asked. 'I'm starving.'

'You won't hear me arguing,' Harry said, sitting up. He knew the lack of proper portions of food had been particularly hard on Ron; he had given Harry odd stares as they were 'eating', as if to say he couldn't imagine how Harry had grown past five feet tall with such a diet. Their things had already been taken to The Burrow by Mrs Weasley, apart from their wands, the clothes on their backs, and Harry's Invisibility Cloak, so there was nothing to pack, and they could leave as soon as they pleased.

'Merlin, I hope Hermione has given up on politeness,' Ron said, throwing off the covers. Her efforts the previous day at drawing his aunt and cousin into conversation had been truly heroic, but by dinner the previous night, even she had grown annoyed.

The Dursleys were still sleeping. Ron and Harry knocked softly on the door to Harry's room. Hermione opened it swiftly; she was already dressed. 'Are we leaving?' she whispered.

'Yeah,' Harry said quietly. Together, the three of them tiptoed down the stairs. Harry could feel a weight in his chest lift as they got closer to the door – closer to the exact moment when Harry would be gone from Privet Drive forever, never to see or hear from the Dursleys again. He took one final breath of air from within the house, breathed it out swiftly, and closed his hand around the doorknob.

'Harry?'

Harry turned around. Aunt Petunia was standing at the top of the stairs in her dressing gown. Hermione and Ron were very still, as though she wouldn't notice them if they didn't move. 'Yes?' Harry said, inwardly groaning.

His aunt stood stiffly, her hands clutching at her gown. 'You're leaving?' she said, her face twitching into something resembling a calm expression.

'Yeah.' Harry turned the doorknob, still looking at her, eager for the conversation to be over and to be gone.

'Well…' she struggled with her throat, then added, '… good luck, then,' with a false smile pressed upon her face.

'Sure,' Harry said, looking away. He pushed the door open and walked out ahead of Ron and Hermione, eager to taste the fresh morning air. When Ron shut the door behind them, Harry grinned bitterly. 'Good luck, she says.' He puffed the air out of his nostrils. 'What a laugh.'

'Just forget about them,' Hermione said.

She looked around; it was very early, and there were no signs of activity visible on Privet Drive. 'Let's get onto the street and Apparate quickly before the neighbourhood wakes up.'

'Uh, Hermione, we can't Apparate, remember?' Ron grumbled. He was still frustrated at having failed his test the first time; he and Harry planned to take it together in August once Harry was of age.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Side-Along Apparition, Ron. I don't know if I can do you both at once, so I'll take Harry first and then come back for you.'

Ron and Harry agreed to her plan, at least after Harry realized that Hermione was not going to take Ron first and leave him alone, even though they knew that there were surely Order members around ('But that didn't protect you from those Dementors, did it, Harry?' Hermione said sternly). So he grabbed onto Hermione's arm tightly, and after the usual unpleasant sensations, they arrived in front of The Burrow.

'You go in, Harry. I'll get Ron,' Hermione said. Harry backed away from her as she raised her wand and cried '_Appario,'_ disappearing with a loud pop.

Harry walked down the lane to the door and knocked. He heard someone walking toward him from within and another loud pop from behind him; Hermione had come back with Ron.

Then Harry was slammed against the door, his face pressed hard into wood by the back of a large someone. 'Stay back!' growled the man. Harry heard more voices behind him, then heard Hermione shriek and Ron yell. Harry could hardly breathe, let alone call out to them; as he struggled, the footsteps from beyond the door pounded frantically.

The door swished open and Harry fell inside just as Mrs Weasley leaped out of the way. The man landed on top of him, compressing the breath out of Harry's lungs with his weight.

The commotion ended as suddenly as it had started, and frantic voices turned to friendly ones. 'Sorry about that!' he dimly heard Tonks yell from outside. 'We thought you were evil.' The man on top of Harry was scrambling off, and Harry took the opportunity to snatch two lungs worth of air.

'Sorry.' Harry rolled over and saw Kingsley Shacklebolt above him, his arm held out. Harry grasped it and was practically lifted to his feet. 'We're all a little on edge lately,' Kingsley continued.

'No problem,' Harry said, wheezing, blinking the shock away and rubbing his sore ribs, 'but maybe you could just hex me next time.'

'We didn't think _you_ were an attacker,' Kingsley explained, 'but when we saw someone Apparate behind you…'

'Oh,' Harry said. He looked behind Kingsley and saw Tonks removing a Jelly-Legs Jinx from Hermione, who was sprawled out on the ground. Harry came to the somewhat sickening realization that Kingsley had been physically blocking him from harm. Shacklebolt hadn't seen him more than a handful of times, and yet he was willing to take a Killing Curse for him.

'Harry,' he heard Mrs Weasley say as she touched his shoulder, 'come on in to the kitchen and I'll fix you something to eat.' Her voice was shaking.

He followed her into the kitchen of The Burrow and saw Mr Weasley sipping coffee at the scrubbed wood table. When he saw Harry he hurriedly put the mug down on the morning paper, sloshing out some of its contents. 'Hello, Harry!' he said brightly. 'Have a seat! Molly was just making breakfast.'

Harry sat down next to Mr Weasley and was about to sneak a glance at the _Daily Prophet_ when Mr Weasley folded it up and set it aside. 'How have you been?' he asked Harry quietly as Mrs Weasley flipped the eggs, looking him in the eyes with a kind expression.

'As well as can be expected,' Harry replied steadily. Mr Weasley nodded swiftly in understanding.

At that moment, Ron and Hermione entered the room; Hermione's robes were covered in dirt, and her awkward walk and wide eyes made her look sore and rattled.

'Breakfast!' Ron exclaimed happily, sniffing at the air with a contented grin on his face. Hermione brushed her dishevelled hair out of her face and sat at the table while Ron peered over his mother's shoulder.

'Smells wonderful, Molly,' Tonks said as she walked in, followed closely by Kingsley, who also took a seat.

Ron gulped down much of the first helping of food, aside from that which he insisted go to Harry and Hermione, due to them being starved for 'ages'. More was on the table soon enough, and Harry enjoyed a breakfast filled with good food and pleasant conversation.

'How are things with Remus?' Hermione asked Tonks, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes.

Tonks wiggled her eyebrows in reply. Then her nose changed to a long, leathery grey elephant trunk and trumpeted in the air. Everyone covered their ears and laughed.

After a short time, Mr Weasley set his napkin on the table and announced that he had to get off to work. Mrs Weasley fussed over him a while, and just as he was heading out the door, a panting, tired-looking figure entered the kitchen: Ginny Weasley.

'Don't leave yet!' Ginny said. She went up to her father and hugged him tightly around the chest. 'Keep safe!'

Mr Weasley looked lovingly down at his daughter and hugged her softly in return. 'You too,' he replied. Then he left, shutting the door behind him, and Harry and Ginny's eyes locked together almost immediately. She shot Harry a warm smile that made his throat constrict.

'Hi, Harry,' Ginny said, taking the seat next to him that her father had recently vacated. 'How were your relatives?'

'Same as ever,' he said, trying to sound casual. 'How're you?'

'We're doing okay,' she said. Then they both fell silent. Soon Tonks and Kingsley left as well; with Ron eating too fast to speak and Harry and Ginny not inclined to talk, the kitchen became very quiet.

'Bill should be arriving soon,' Mrs Weasley said to the room at large as she magically scrubbed the pots and dishes. 'Fleur is in France with her parents taking care of last-minute plans and getting the Portkey approved by the French Ministry.'

Everyone except Ginny looked up in surprise. 'The wedding is taking place in France?' Hermione said.

'Yes, at her parent's home. It's going to be a very grand ceremony,' Mrs Weasley said, smiling broadly. Harry couldn't detect any remnants of her previous hostility toward Fleur. 'We'll be arriving through an international Portkey in a few days.'

'I've never been abroad,' Harry said.

'You'll love France, Harry!' Hermione beamed.

'Well, we won't be doing any sightseeing,' Mrs Weasley sighed. Hermione's smile sank. 'We're just going for the wedding and coming back the next day. Arthur is needed at work. I would love to stay longer, but this isn't the time for a vacation,' she said, each word coming out as though it were painful to say.

'Oh, of course,' Hermione said. 'Would you like some help with the dishes?'

'Thank you, dear, but I've got it taken care of,' Mrs Weasley replied.

At that moment, Bill knocked at the back door. Mrs Weasley went to it. 'Bill, there you are!' she said. 'What's your favourite sweet?' she asked through the door.

'Blood-flavoured lollipops,' Harry heard him reply. Ron gagged. _Must be because of his new werewolf tendencies,_ Harry thought sadly. 'And who's your favourite son?' Bill asked her.

'Bill, be serious! Arthur is quite insistent that we do this properly!'

'All right, all right… what's your favourite Celestina Warbeck song?'

'_A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love,_' she said firmly. She opened the door. 'Come in, come in!'

Bill walked in, and Harry's gaze was drawn to his face, badly scarred in Greyback's assault. He supposed he would get used to it eventually, but it was difficult to see the body of the attractive Bill Weasley topped off by a mass of scar tissue. 'Honestly, Mum,' Bill rolled his eyes, 'if we can hear through the door, a Death Eater could easily smash it in.'

'Don't joke,' she said sternly.

'I'm not,' he said seriously. 'I know we have security here, but I'd be more comfortable if you were at headquarters.' He sat down at the table and greeted Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

'We're quite all right here,' she replied.

'You'll have to convince her to go, Harry,' Bill said, grabbing some cold, leftover toast. 'It's your house, after all.'

Harry had almost forgotten that he was the owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. 'Of course you're all welcome there,' he said lamely, with no enthusiasm; he didn't have any particular desire to ever go back there, and he couldn't imagine where he would go if he didn't stay with the Weasleys.

'It's quite all right, Harry,' Mrs Weasley said, her cheeks a little red with embarrassment. 'We have security here. Not to insult you…or Sirius, but I don't like that awful house.'

'I don't, either,' he said honestly, 'and I'm sure that Sirius wouldn't have taken offence. He hated it there too.' There was an awkward silence for a few moments, which Harry was determined to break; he didn't want Sirius' name to be taboo. 'So when's the stag night?' he joked to Bill.

Bill looked at him suspiciously. 'It's in a couple nights. How'd you know about it?'

'I didn't,' Harry said.

'Awesome!' Ron grinned. 'I can't wait!' Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Are Fred and George planning it? They'd be really good at organizing the stag night.'

'They insisted,' Bill said, 'and it's a good way for them to help out. It plays to their strengths,' he added mischievously. But then Bill, awkward, started, 'But unfortunately, you can't –'

'You'll have a great time, Harry! One of Charlie's friends got married last year and he said they went to this club, and –'

'Ron,' Bill said disapprovingly. 'You really shouldn't…'

'But you went, too, didn't you, Bill? You said you had a great time! Are we going to the same place?'

'It won't be nearly so smashing as that was. It's too dangerous these days.' Bill gave his brother a look, and Ron went quiet, although he shot Harry a questioning look across the table. Harry shrugged.

'Harry,' said Bill, 'I'd love for you to come, but since you're not of age, it's not possible. I'm sure you won't be missing much, anyway,' he added – too hastily to be believed.

'What?' Ron cried, slouching to the table. 'Of course Harry's coming! Harry has to come! Come on, Bill…'

'It's not Bill's decision to make,' Mrs Weasley interrupted. 'He's too young. He wouldn't be allowed in that place.'

Harry shrugged. Missing the stag night wasn't a problem for him. 'No hard feelings. I understand.' Ron snuck a glance at Harry's eyes, and seeing that he genuinely wasn't offended, relaxed and sat back up again.

'Er, I could stay…' Ron offered.

Harry laughed. 'No way! You have to tell me all about it when you get back.' At this, Ron snuck a glance at his mother, who didn't look as though she approved.

Ron cleared his throat. 'Er… so, Bill… the wedding will be in France, will it?'

Bill nodded, and though it was hard to tell through the scarring, he seemed to be grimacing. 'Yes, it seems like the only option that will allow all the guests to attend safely. I know Mum would have preferred if it were in England…'

'It's all right, Bill,' Mrs Weasley said with a sigh. 'I know that travel to Britain is too dangerous right now for Fleur's family to attempt, especially with Fleur's little sister being so young.'

'I appreciate your understanding,' Bill said genuinely. 'I know you wanted to help out more with the planning.'

'It's fine, really,' she said. 'I have other boys I'll be able to plan weddings for.' With this, Mrs Weasley let out a great sob, reached down and hugged Bill around the neck. 'Oh, Bill!' she cried. 'I can't believe that in a few days…'

'Don't worry, Mum,' he said, patting her arm. 'We'll still be living near here. Hardly anything will change, really!'

Mrs Weasley sniffed and let go of him. 'My little baby…' she sighed again before going back to her cleaning. Hermione reached for the paper beside Ginny and scanned through the first few pages. 'No one we know died,' she announced to a sombre crowd, 'although there are a few Muggles…'

'Hermione, perhaps you would like to go get cleaned up?' Ginny interrupted.

Hermione set the paper down, grabbed at her hair and cringed. 'Yes, perhaps I ought to.'

'You should all wash up,' Mrs Weasley added. 'Madam Malkin is coming over this afternoon to measure new robes for the bridesmaids and let out everyone else's dress robes.'

The day was a flurry of activity at the Burrow. Dress robes were made and mended by Madam Malkin, Mrs Weasley was having everyone practice saying 'Please,' 'Thank you,' and 'Where's the bathroom?' in French, and Charlie was rehearsing a speech for the wedding to anyone who sat still and then breaking down in horror about being a terrible best man. Fred and George visited that night, gushing over their grand stag night plans. Then they had an argument with their mother about Harry not being allowed to attend ('But we already bought him the Ageing Potion, Mum!' Fred protested), but Mrs Weasley won out by pure staying power ('Sorry, Harry,' George shook his head, 'but she's had too much practice.')

Harry thanked them, but he wasn't too unhappy to be left behind. He wasn't at all in the mood for a loud party; the death of Dumbledore still pained him, and he could hardly go five minutes without thinking of Horcruxes and Voldemort.

The next day, a great flood of Weasley uncles, aunts and cousins appeared at the Burrow. Every time Harry stepped into a hallway he was assaulted by a red-headed blizzard, peppered by the occasional brunette who married into the family. It didn't help that many of them were _intentionally_ bumping into him for another excuse to shake his hand, ruffle his hair, hug him, or in the case of the frightfully assertive Aunt Meliflua, bear his young. Mrs Weasley put a stop to her behaviour within an hour of her arrival by threatening to tell Meliflua's husband, a burly Weasley who nearly cracked Harry's ribs when he drew Harry and Ron into a bear hug.

It struck Harry that none of the people there were related to Mrs Weasley; they were all Mr Weasley's brothers and their families. When he, Ron, and Hermione were alone in Ron's room, crammed together by Harry's trunk and Uncles Burt and Ernie's suitcases, Harry asked, 'Why aren't any of your mum's relatives here?'

Ron, blinking in surprise, sat down on the edge of his bed. 'Mum doesn't have any other family,' he said gravely. 'Her brothers were killed by Death Eaters before I was born. They were in the Order: Gideon and Fabian Prewett.'

Harry blinked. 'I didn't know they were her brothers,' he said.

He remembered Moody having pointed them out in the photograph of the old Order members he showed Harry at Grimmauld Place. 'I'm sorry I brought it up.'

'Nah, it's okay,' Ron said, standing up. 'It happened before I was even born.'

'Just don't mention it to Mrs Weasley,' Hermione said sadly. 'I think she's been a little down about it since all of Mr Weasley's family showed up. She's trying hard to hide it, but she seemed melancholy when I saw her in the kitchen this afternoon.'

'It's probably just Bill she's thinking about,' Ron said, shrugging. 'She's been tearing up every time he passes by lately.'

Harry was more inclined to agree with Hermione's version. He felt a great deal of sympathy for Mrs Weasley. _No wonder she worries so much about her family when she lost her first one_, he thought sadly. Then, looking at Ron, who had turned away from Harry to check his appearance in the window, he realized that Mrs Weasley didn't know yet that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would be going off to search for the Horcruxes, which she didn't even know existed. It hadn't occurred to him before that Mrs Weasley or anyone else would be worrying about them every day. A stab of guilt pierced him, even as he realized that he had no choice and there was no way for him to deter Ron and Hermione from following him, so determined were they to stand by him.

A knock at the door startled Harry. 'Come in,' he said. Ginny opened the door and stood outside the room. 'Ron, Fred and George want to talk to you downstairs about some surprise for the party.'

'Great!' Ron said, grinning ear to ear as he walked out the door.

'_And_ Mum wants to go over the rules again,' she added.

'I don't see why she's so worried,' Ron grumbled. 'Dad has tons of Magical Law Enforcement employees guarding the place as a favour to him, and even a few Order members are going to be there.'

'Ron, she has every reason to be worried. It's not as though a few MLE people would be able to stop…'

'Let's not talk about it, all right?' Ron interrupted, looking at Harry askew. 'There's no reason to worry. No one can sneak in; Fred and George charmed the doors with some spell so that no one can enter who wants to hurt anyone inside unless they cast the countercharm, and the MLE's would notice that.'

'That's interesting,' Hermione remarked. 'Why wouldn't they use that everywhere?'

'It would be useless unless there was someone watching the door the whole time, wouldn't it?' Ron replied, sounding unusually annoyed by Hermione's questioning nature. He'd been unusually irritable all day, but Harry chalked it up to the excess of relatives under the same roof.

'Mum's _still_ going to go over the safety rules again,' Ginny said sternly. 'Go get it over with and then you and Fred and George can scheme to your heart's content.'

'Fine, fine,' Ron huffed, 'I'm going.' He stomped out of the room.

Harry looked down at his feet, waiting for Ginny to leave. 'I know you're probably upset about not going to the stag night,' Ginny said tentatively. Harry looked up abruptly; the party wasn't on his mind at all. He still didn't meet her eyes. 'Hermione, Mum and I are going to play some Muggle card games this evening with some of the guests, though. It might be fun, even if it's not too exciting. You should join us.'

And with that, Ginny walked away, shutting the door gently behind her. 'I should go help Ginny pack her bridesmaid gown properly. She's just thrown it into her overnight bag!' Hermione said, following her out.

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and sighed. It didn't sound too horrible, and he'd never played Muggle card games before since he'd never had anyone to play them with. He really wasn't bothered by not going to the party; in fact, he was surprised that Ron was so excited about it and so unconcerned about the safety measures. Harry looked down at his hands and wondered. He supposed that Ron couldn't be expected to take everything as seriously as Harry did, even if he was his best friend. _After all, _he's _not the Chosen One._

The appointed time arrived. Harry reassured Ron once again that there were no hard feelings, and then Ron and some of the younger male guests departed, leaving the house slightly less cacophonous than before.

* * *

Ginny got it backwards when it came to playing cards: it wasn't much fun, but it was certainly exciting, especially when playing Fish with real fish and a rod, with the water up to his chest in the room, and with near-blind Great Aunt Augustine catching other players instead of the cards. Hermione looked distraught (_how had she expected it to turn out?_ Harry wondered) and Mrs Weasley spent half the time casting healing spells on people who were injured during the razor-sharp flying card version of Fifty-Two Pick-Up invented by Crazy Old Uncle Ralph (that's what everyone called him, and Harry could understand why). 

The card games were called off as soon as politely possible, and Harry ended up spending most of the night alone in his room, exhausted and half-asleep. Hermione came in to check on him, but he was curled up on the bed, nearly asleep, and she left quietly. It had been an exhausting few days: first dealing with the Dursleys, then the wedding and party preparations, and then the guests. With that thought, Harry dug his wand out from his pocket and aimed it haphazardly at the door, locking it just in case Meliflua was still a threat. He knew he had to share the room with Ron and Bert and Ernie since space was so tight, but Harry figured they could unlock it when they got back from the party. _Then again, so could Meliflua_, he realized with a shiver.

* * *

Harry woke groggily to the sound of raucous laughter permeating through the walls. He took the opportunity to get under the blanket and laid back down, trying to ignore the noise. Eventually, one of the voices arrived outside the door, which unlocked swiftly and opened. 'Harry?' he heard Ron say, sounding dazed. 'Y'here?' 

'Hey Ron,' Harry replied, not turning over. 'You should get to bed. We've got to go to the wedding tomorrow, remember?'

'Uhuh,' Ron grunted, entering the room and shutting the door with a click. 'Where are you?'

'In bed.'

Ron stumbled into the room as though he'd had too much Firewhiskey, tripping over one of the sleeping bags and landing lightly on the floor. He cursed, and Harry heard him scrabbling to his feet again. 'Where?'

'Over here.'

Harry heard as Ron bumbled toward him and rolled over to look at him. 'You sound like you had a little too much fun…' he smiled in the darkness.

Their eyes met, and at that moment, Harry could tell that something was horribly wrong, for Ron's eyes were glowing in the darkness, and they were far more alert and sober than he sounded.

And his wand was pointed at Harry.

'_Avada Kedavra!_'


	2. The Traitor

**A/N:** Here's the second chapter. I've decided that updates will be weekly, so look for another next Friday. Reviews are snuggled ;) Enjoy!**_  
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**_Chapter Two: The Traitor_**

Harry had no time to react, or to think that he was about to die, or even to see the flash of green light as more than a pale twinkle in the tip of Ron's wand before it seared through the air several inches above Harry's head, singeing his hair. After it was over, however, he had the distinct realization that he was not dead. A blaring siren erupted in the room, spurring Harry to action. He threw off the blanket and sheet and rolled off the other side of the bed, grabbing his wand from the nightstand as he tumbled. He aimed his wand at Ron and yelled, '_Stupefy!'_

The spell hit Ron square in the chest; he was blasted into the door and fell forwards across his uncles' sleeping bags. Harry stayed still for several moments, his heart pounding, barely comprehending what had happened. The siren shrilled through the air and the sounds of panicked shouts and thumps began to permeate the cloud of shock in Harry's mind. The door to the room was shoved open, pushing Ron's leaden legs aside, and Harry blinked against the light. He could make out two male figures in the doorway.

'_Stupefy!_' two voices shouted. Harry fell to the floor before the spells hit him.

'He's dead, he's dead!' one of them cried.

'No he's not!' Harry bellowed as the other fired off another spell, which he dodge-rolled. 'It wasn't me!'

The light was turned on and Harry got to his feet, one of Ron's uncles still pointing his wand at him while the other checked Ron's pulse. 'He's alive,' the man breathed. The other uncle lowered his wand, though he still looked at Harry with suspicion.

'What's going on up here?' Mr Weasley demanded, pushing his way into the room and nearly tripping over Ron's prone form.

'It's all right, he's just Stunned,' Harry assured Mr Weasley upon seeing the stricken look on his face. Mr Weasley's gaze whipped from his son's body to Harry. 'He attacked me. Tried to kill me.' As Harry looked down at Ron, he could hardly believe it himself.

'What?' Mr Weasley said hoarsely. Then Hermione arrived, squeezing between Mr Weasley and Ron's uncles, and gasped, her mouth falling open in horror.

'He's alive,' Mr Weasley told her. Hermione breathed deeply, tears clinging to her eyes. 'Find Molly. Tell her to contact the Ministry,' he said to his brother. Then he turned to Harry. 'What happened?' he asked him sharply as he knelt next to Ron and checked his pulse himself.

'He came in here and used the Killing Curse on me. It missed,' he replied lamely, looking back for the first time toward the bed he had been sleeping in. There was a hole with blackened edges in one of the Chudley Cannons posters on the wall, well above where Harry's head had been.

He turned back to Mr Weasley, who was now looking at Ron with as much dread as he had when he thought Ron was dead. Hermione's eyes were fixed on the damaged poster. 'Imperius,' Mr Weasley whispered, his hand shaking as he reached for his wand. '_Stupefy_,' he said dully, the spell causing Ron's body to jolt. '_Petrificus Totalus_,' he appended. This had no noticeable effect, but Harry knew that even if Ron happened to recover from the two Stunners, he would be unable to move.

Ron's arms, heretofore folded against his chest after the blast, were slowly trickling blood. Frowning, Mr Weasley unfolded them and took in a shaking breath. Hermione made a sudden noise of alarm, and Harry's blood ran cold as his eyes were drawn to the markings. Carved lightly into the inner forearm of Ron's right arm, running from wrist to elbow, was the word _BLOOD_. Running down his left arm, from elbow to wrist, continuing into his hand for lack of room, was the word _TRAITOR_.

'I don't understand,' said Mr Weasley, gripping Ron's shoulder hard. Then, businesslike, he growled, 'It must have happened at the party. We need to have everyone who was there quarantined.'

'Arthur, it couldn't have happened at the party,' Ernie Weasley argued. 'It was shut up tight as a drum by your Ministry friends. Even the dancing girls were strip searched, and they didn't have anywhere to conceal a wand.'

'When else could it have happened?' Mr Weasley growled, getting to his feet and glaring at his brother.

'Oh!' Hermione said softly. Everyone looked at her. 'If it wasn't the party, it must have happened at Privet Drive!'

'He's been acting funny,' Harry added. He wanted to grip something and smash it to let out his frustration. 'How could I not have known? I'm his best friend!'

'It's not your fault, Harry,' Hermione said, leaning against the wall, a tear sliding silently down her face. 'It's mine. I left him alone in Privet Drive when we Apparated! It must have happened then! But he was alone for less than a minute!' she sobbed.

'That's all it takes. Who was watching Privet Drive?'

'I don't know!' Hermione replied.

'It's not your fault. We thought the Order was around,' Harry insisted.

'There's no use in arguing over who's to blame,' Mr Weasley scolded. 'We need to get Ron to St Mungo's. I'll take him. Harry, you'll need to stay here to be questioned.'

'Right,' Harry said, not much liking the idea, but understanding the necessity of it.

'Can I go with you?' Hermione asked anxiously.

'No, you should be here to support Harry's story.'

'Arthur!' Mrs Weasley cried from outside the door, unable to enter the crowded room. 'Arthur, what's –'

'Everyone's alive, Molly,' Mr Weasley reassured her, turning her away from the room before she could see Ron. 'Ron needs to go to St Mungo's. He tried to kill Harry; I think he was under Imperius.'

'_Think?_' Hermione burst out. 'It's not like he would do it if he wasn't!'

'Oh goodness, Arthur!' Mrs Weasley cried. 'This is a nightmare! Is he hurt? Is Harry hurt?'

'Harry is fine, and Ron will recover,' Mr Weasley told her soothingly. 'I need to help Ron now. Could you keep everyone calm downstairs and direct the Ministry people up here when they arrive? I need to leave.'

Mrs Weasley nodded, her brow set in a firm line of determination. Mr Weasley refolded Ron's arms carefully and levitated his body. Hermione and Mr Weasley's brother exited the room to make way as he maneuvered Ron's body through the narrow doorway and around into the hall. Hermione came back in afterward; Ernie Weasley followed his brother and nephew.

'Harry,' Hermione said soberly, 'Harry, you could've died! And what if the Death Eater who cast the curse on Ron had decided to kill him instead?' She sat down on the bed, her face ghostly pale.

'I'm okay, Hermione,' Harry said, taking her hands in his, 'and Ron will be, too. No harm done.' He smiled half-heartedly, trying to reassure her.

Hermione looked into his eyes, her expression now more angry than afraid. 'We have to stop them. I'm so _tired_ of it. Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore… almost Ron…' she choked.

Harry gave her a grim look. 'I know. We will. That's the entire point, right?'

Hermione swallowed, some of the anger leaving her face, and nodded. They stayed like that for a short while until they were interrupted by a demanding knock on the door. 'Come in,' Harry said, moving to sit on the bed beside Hermione.

Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic, stood in the doorway, flanked by a pair of Aurors. One was Dawlish; the other was one of the largest men Harry had ever seen. Harry wasn't at all happy about having to talk to Scrimgeour again, and he had thought that at least one of the Order's Aurors would be there.

'Harry, good to see you again,' Scrimgeour said pleasantly, walking into the room with the comfortable gait of someone visiting an old friend, the image marred only slightly by his limp. Harry nearly rolled his eyes. He wondered if this meeting would fit the theme of his other encounters with Scrimgeour: pleasantries leading to an attempt to coerce him into helping the Ministry, followed by anger when Harry didn't play along.

'Minister,' Harry said mildly, deciding to be neither friendly nor offensive, at least for the moment. 'I'm surprised to see you here.'

Scrimgeour glared briefly at Hermione, clearly annoyed that Harry wasn't alone, but he swiftly returned to a deceptive smile. 'How could you be surprised, Harry?' he said, the shock in his voice sounding not the least bit genuine. 'I've taken a great interest in all your affairs ever since becoming Minister – and even before that, I daresay.'

Harry deliberately turned his attention to the larger of the two Aurors, already tired of Scrimgeour's game, whatever it was this time. 'I suppose you're here to question me?'

In contrast to Scrimgeour's false sincerity, the Auror's face broke into a full-fledged smile, one that looked bizarre on the face of such a hulking figure, and nodded his head up and down quickly like an over-excited child. Harry realized that the Auror's gaze was focused on Harry's scar and felt an irrational annoyance. He turned back to Scrimgeour. 'Well?'

Scrimgeour harrumphed and conjured himself a chair; the Aurors both did likewise, the large Auror creating a purple beanbag chair that reminded Harry of Dumbledore, which did nothing to improve his mood. The room was so narrow that Scrimgeour's knees brushed against Harry's own when Scrimgeour sat down.

'I hear your friend tried to kill you,' Scrimgeour said, with the same pleasant tone in which he had greeted Harry.

'Yes, well, the Imperius Curse does that to a person, doesn't it?' Harry replied coldly.

'Funny thing about the Imperius Curse,' Scrimgeour continued, his eyes now boring into Harry's, 'it's hard to tell whether an action was made under its influence or not. Very difficult. In times like these, it's not generally recommended to take chances. Dawlish, Harkiss,' he said, turning to address the Aurors on either side of him, 'perhaps we could make faster work of this if you were to take the young lady into another room to interrogate her?'

'Separate interrogation of witnesses is policy, sir,' Dawlish replied seriously.

'Or perhaps you could skip to the part where you threaten to throw Ron into Azkaban unless I do something for you?' Harry glared. 'Unless I'm mistaken, that _is_ where we're headed.'

Scrimgeour sneered, finally showing his true colours. 'Take the girl outside,' he demanded. The two Aurors stood up; Harkiss, for his part, looked nearly as alarmed as Hermione at this turn of events, and Harry wryly wondered whether Scrimgeour had made the best selection of Aurors to bring along for such dirty business.

'Harry –'

'Hermione, don't. Just go.'

'But –'

'Come along, miss,' Dawlish said stonily, grabbing Hermione by the elbow. Hermione wrenched her arm out of his grip, glared, and walked proudly out of the room. The Aurors followed, Harkiss looking back at Harry with wide eyes before shutting the door behind him.

'Let's get to business then, Potter,' Scrimgeour said evenly. 'I don't like you, you don't like me.'

'You wound me,' Harry said, grabbing his chest in mock pain.

Scrimgeour clenched his teeth. 'You know what I want from you: cooperation.'

'The official Harry Potter seal of approval.'

'Indeed.'

Harry paused. His own words, _seal of approval_, sparked a realization. He had been ready to accede to Scrimgeour's demands in exchange for Ron's freedom, but now he felt, for the first time, that he had found a bargaining chip in his pocket that had been since the moment Dumbledore died. 'I think you need me more than you needed me before,' Harry said, an eyebrow raised.

The look of alarm on Scrimgeour's face at Harry's comment told Harry he was right. 'The world needs you, Harry. The Ministry needs you.'

'No.' Harry shook his head, a small smile creeping onto his face. '_You_ need me, Minister. You need me for the same reason you needed Dumbledore. You were awfully careful about not upsetting him, weren't you, Minister? You only approached me that one time before he died because you knew he might become hostile to you if you bothered me too much.'

Scrimgeour pushed his wire-rimmed spectacles back up his nose; they were sliding down on a thin layer of sweat. 'My past relationship with the _departed_ Albus Dumbledore is none of your concern!'

'That's not the point,' Harry argued. 'You needed Dumbledore to stay in power; everyone knows he could have been Minister in a second if he'd wanted the job. The wizarding world only tolerated _you_ because Dumbledore didn't tell it to do otherwise.' Then, the epiphany continuing faster than the words could tumble from his lips, he said, 'With Dumbledore gone, people are scared. They need someone they can rally behind, and try as you might, you can't get them to rally behind _you_.'

Scrimgeour turned purple. He stood up, his hands balled into fists, towering directly over Harry. 'And who _else_ ought to be Minister, Potter!' he yelled down at him. 'I've fought Dark wizards for longer than you've been alive! I was Head of the Auror Office for over a decade! I'm the most qualified man for the position now, surely even _you_ see that!'

'But the rest of the world doesn't see it that way,' Harry said softly, in contrast to Scrimgeour's bellowing; his eyes, however, were sharp and challenging as he looked up at the Minister. 'I think that the moment I turn seventeen, they're going to be begging _me_ to take over. I think they're already whispering about you stepping down in favour of the Chosen One. I think that's why you're desperate enough to barge in here at one in the morning threatening to send my best friend to Azkaban unless I pretend that we're pals.'

Scrimgeour let out a humourless laugh. 'And what sort of Minister do you suppose you would make, _boy_? You have no Ministerial experience at all! You haven't even graduated from Hogwarts!'

'I'm not saying I want to be Minister,' Harry said. 'I don't want the job any more than Dumbledore did. So I'll tell you what…' Then Harry stood up, tall and fiery, his body so close to Scrimgeour's that he could smell his sweat, 'If you stay away from me and my friends, and keep your Ministry people away from us too, I'll stay away from the Ministry, and you'll get to keep your job … if you're lucky.'

'You would have the world turn to chaos for the sake of your own pride!' Scrimgeour snarled, specks of his spit landing on Harry's glasses.

'I intend to save the world,' Harry replied mildly, 'but saving _your_ job isn't on _my_ agenda. Arrest Ron, and I'll make sure the wizarding world knows exactly what I think of you.'

Scrimgeour sputtered, reminding Harry vividly of Snape when the Order of Merlin slipped through his fingers. The thought made him smile, which infuriated Scrimgeour even more.

'Fine,' Scrimgeour growled deeply, 'I'll be taking my leave.'

'You do that.'

His face twisted in rage, Scrimgeour hastened to the door, his anger eliminating his limp, and slammed it shut behind him. He could hear Scrimgeour barking out orders to the two Aurors he had brought, and soon their footsteps led them out of Harry's hearing.

Hermione returned shortly after. 'Goodness, Harry, what did you _say_ to the man? He looked murderous.' She glanced back toward the door, cringing.

'Doesn't matter,' Harry, said, shrugging. 'He won't be bothering us again.'

'And Ron …?'

'Ron will be fine,' Harry assured her. A breath of relief escaped Hermione's lips, which curled into a calm smile. 'How did your 'interrogation' go?' he asked her.

Hermione shook her head, grinning ruefully. 'It wasn't much of one. Lenny mostly asked about you. He's a big fan.'

'Lenny?'

'The big Auror. He likes to be called Lenny. Someone ought to invite him into the Order; he's so sweet.' Harry chuckled at this. 'Do you suppose we could go to St Mungo's to see Ron now? Mrs Weasley left with Ginny while you were talking with the Minister.'

'Yes, let's,' Harry said fervently.

* * *

'I'm so, _so_ sorry, Harry,' Ron mumbled for the eighth time in half an hour, looking at Harry with sad eyes. 

'It's not your fault, Ron,' Harry sighed, also for the eighth time in half an hour.

'You could have fought it off,' Ron said hoarsely, looking down at his bandaged arms. The cuts, thankfully, were minor; the Healer had applied some ointments and told Mr Weasley that they would be gone within the hour.

'The important thing is that everyone is okay,' Hermione declared.

'I could have killed you,' Ron continued dolefully.

Harry, who had been thinking on it a great deal since Scrimgeour departed, said, 'No, I don't think you could have.'

Hermione and Ron stared. 'Do you remember seeing the burn mark in the poster, Hermione? From the curse?' She nodded; Ron looked away in shame. 'Well, it's just … it seems to me that a _real _Killing Curse would have blown a chunk out of the wall.'

Hermione blinked. 'He's right,' she said, looking over at Ron, a more cheerful expression on her face. 'Come to think of it, he's right! I mean, even a misfired Stunner could do more than what you did to that poster, Ron!'

'It's the thought that counts,' Ron muttered.

'_Exactly_,' Harry exclaimed, grinning at him. 'I'm no expert, but … I think that you really have to _want _to kill someone for the Killing Curse to work. If it's anything like Cruciatus, that is,' he added, recalling his experience trying to cast that Unforgivable on Bellatrix Lestrange in the battle at the Ministry.

'But it wasn't _me_ in there!' Ron protested. 'I hardly remember anything about the past few days. I was in control _sometimes_, a little, and there are flashes … but Harry, I don't remember cursing you at all. That was the Death Eater.'

'And you still don't remember who cast the spell?' Hermione asked disappointedly.

Ron shook his head. 'But it wasn't me.'

'That means …'

'That means the Death Eater wasn't out for blood,' Harry concluded, his brow furrowed. 'Of course he wouldn't be,' he realized, feeling foolish. 'They were told to leave me alone when they attacked Hogwarts, weren't they? Voldemort wants me for himself.'

'So what was the point of attacking you tonight?' Hermione wondered.

'Whoever it was who used the Imperius Curse on Ron intentionally cast a poor Killing Curse, and purposefully missed me at point-blank range,' Harry said. Frowning, he wondered, 'D'you suppose it might have been a prank?'

'A prank?' Ron deadpanned. 'A _prank_?'

'A really bad one,' Harry affixed hastily, 'but who ever said that Death Eaters – or Voldemort – have a normal sense of humour?'

'I'm certainly not laughing!' Ron growled. 'They have to keep me here for ruddy _observation_ until they're sure the curse has been lifted! I'm going to miss Bill's wedding!'

Hermione cringed. 'Poor Ron.'

'_Poor Ron_,' Ron grumbled bitterly, looking at Harry sadly again. 'Poor Harry, more like. I really am _really_ sorry, Harry.'

'It's okay, Ron,' Harry sighed again.

'It wasn't very bright, though,' Hermione said pensively. 'I mean, they could have used Ron as a spy for ages instead of toying with him for a few days.'

'Thanks, Hermione,' Ron said sarcastically. 'I feel much better now.'

'Yeah,' Harry agreed. 'Whoever thought this one up wasn't thinking it through too far.' And after saying that, and remembering the previous year, Harry had a funny feeling that he knew who was behind it. He wasn't sure, though, and he didn't think it would help anyone if he mentioned Malfoy, so he kept his suspicions to himself.

'I want to know why the Order wasn't there,' Hermione continued, pacing the room. 'I wouldn't have left Ron alone at all if I thought we were … well, _alone_.'

'Dad's been asking around about that,' Ron replied, crossing his arms. 'He says Kingsley and Tonks Apparated away at the same time you two did to keep track of Harry. They didn't expect anyone to come after _me_ at Privet Drive.'

'Maybe no one did,' Harry said ominously. 'Maybe someone was there waiting for _me_.'

'And the Aurors didn't notice? If he was lying in wait, he must have been there while Tonks and Kingsley were,' Hermione realized, her eyebrows raised. 'It wasn't as amateurish as we thought, then.'

Harry decided he was right not to have announced his suspicions. After all, Draco Malfoy could never sneak by two Aurors. 'It doesn't matter now,' he decided, stretching and yawning. 'Let's get some rest. I'm exhausted.'

* * *

Harry and Hermione went back to the Burrow to get a few hours sleep before going back to the hospital, only to walk in on Mr Weasley and Ron arguing. 'Dad, you don't have to stay with me,' Ron protested, tentatively poking the questionable food on the tray levitating over his lap. 'I'm completely fine. I don't want you to miss the wedding.' 

'I won't hear another word about it,' Mr Weasley declared, glaring at Ron over his morning paper from the chair next to him. 'Your mother won't go unless there's someone here with you, and I don't want her missing the wedding, so I'll have to stay.'

Ron looked down at his hospital food with tearful eyes. 'I'm _sorry_, Dad,' he choked out. 'Merlin, I'm so _sorry_.'

'Would you quit it already?' Harry interrupted insistently. 'It wasn't your fault!'

Ron didn't look convinced. Harry turned to Mr Weasley. 'Are you sure there's no one else who could stay with him, Mr Weasley?' he asked. 'I mean, Hermione and I could stay…'

'No, Harry,' Mr Weasley sighed. 'I appreciate the thought, but I would like to remain here with my son.'

Harry flushed and looked at Ron guiltily, feeling as though he had crossed a personal family line. He looked down and shuffled his feet.

Ron picked up on Harry's discomfort. 'Don't be an idiot, Harry.' Ron rolled his eyes. 'They've got something planned for you in France, is all…'

'Ron!' Mr Weasley said sharply. 'I trusted you not to say anything about that!'

'About what?' Harry asked suspiciously.

'Honestly, Dad, Harry doesn't need any more surprises in his life,' Ron continued. 'Mum felt bad about taking you to France without showing you anything, seeing as it's your first time abroad and all, and what with …' he swallowed, then breathed out, '… with all that's happened lately, she felt like you could use a treat, so she and Dad talked it over and they decided that we should spend a week in France. Of course, I _told_ them you wouldn't want to …'

'We could all use the break,' Mr Weasley said. 'Especially you, Harry. Ron and I can always catch up in a few days.'

'I don't know if now's the best time for a vacation, Mr Weasley,' Harry mumbled, his gaze fixed on his shoes. 'We've got a lot to do, and …'

'If you're talking about Voldemort,' Mr Weasley said loudly, shocking them all into paying attention, 'he can bloody well wait a week! I'm tired of seeing you _children_, particularly Harry, acting as though the entire battle is on your shoulders! _Chosen One_ or not, you've been through a great deal lately, and you ought to take some time off. You're not even seventeen yet, you've got a whole other year at Hogwarts ahead of you –'

'No, I don't,' Harry interrupted, feeling as though he were making the decision all over again. It was one thing to tell Ron and Hermione he wasn't going back to Hogwarts, but it felt like quite another telling Mr Weasley. It seemed more official. 'I'm not going back to Hogwarts next year, sir,' he said plainly.

'I'm not either, Dad.'

'Me neither,' Hermione added forcefully.

'You most certainly are,' Mr Weasley said coldly, glaring daggers at Harry. Harry felt a chill run up his spine; he had never been on the receiving end of a talking-to by Mr Weasley before. 'It isn't up for discussion.'

'I'm seventeen, Dad. You can't boss me about anymore,' Ron countered, 'and you can't boss around Harry or Hermione, either.'

'Harry, you and Hermione are going to miss the Portkey if you don't get going,' he said calmly, though Harry could see a vein in his temple popping out the way Uncle Vernon's always did when he was furious. Harry didn't like the idea of upsetting Mr Weasley at all. Almost as soon as his anger appeared, however, Mr Weasley settled back into his skin again. 'You two have a good time. Ron and I will catch up in Paris,' he smiled.

With that, he snapped his newspaper open again, and the conversation was clearly at an end. Ron gave Harry an '_I'll talk to him_' look and tilted his head toward the door. Harry licked his dry lips and, he and Hermione both shooting Ron tense smiles of encouragement, they departed.

* * *

The garden of the Burrow was packed with chatting Weasleys gathered in a circle around an old, water-damaged paperback book. Harry figured it was supposed to be an object that a Muggle wouldn't suspect, even if it wasn't going anywhere but the Weasley's backyard, but he thought that if any Muggle did see it, his attention would surely be caught by the moving illustration on the cover. 

'All right, everyone!' Mrs Weasley bellowed, calling them all to order. 'Touch the book!'

Harry and Hermione pressed into the crowd and were squeezed and crunched on all sides; it didn't help that everyone was carrying a bag or wearing a rucksack filled with good robes and toiletries. Harry didn't see how it was possible for so many people to touch such a small object at once, but eventually it was managed. He and Hermione ended up stretching their arms as far as they could to place the tips of their index fingers on a corner of the book. They stayed like that for a handful of seconds before Harry felt the all-too-familiar yank at his belly from the Portkey activating. The wind whipped through his hair as he, Hermione and the bundle of Weasleys were swept through a kaleidoscopic vortex.

They landed upon soft, damp grass. Harry couldn't see at first, as a couple of Weasleys had fallen on him, but soon enough they jumped up and Harry managed to straighten his glasses. He heard gasps and whispers, but even so he was taken aback at the sight that surrounded him. On all visible sides there were hills covered in lush green trees rising up in soft slopes across the landscape, set against a blue sky with wispy clouds. It was like a frozen image from one of the nature channels that Dudley would flip right past on the television, only with the sound of chirping birds and the fresh smells of nature included.

'Isn't it lovely?' Hermione gushed, her hands covering her heart.

'Sure is,' Harry agreed. 'But where's the house?'

Someone laughed, grabbed Harry by the shoulders and spun him around. 'Oh,' he said, embarrassed upon realizing that it was right behind him.

It was no mere house. To Harry, it looked like a palace. It was fronted by a long garden lined by lime trees, with patterns of pink, yellow and white flowers creating a design of artful lines and swirls. The mansion itself was made of light sandstone with dozens of full-length windows.

'Come on, enough gawking,' a voice behind Harry called, grabbing him again and leading him forward. He dazedly looked up into the face of one of the Weasley twins, mirthful as usual.

'You think she's well off?' Fred joked.

'This is probably just her summer mansion,' George sniffed by Fred's side, reaching up to adjust an imaginary monocle.

'It looks to be around seventeenth century vintage,' Hermione remarked. 'And the flower arrangement –'

'No more about flowers!' Fred scowled.

'Yes, please spare us!' George added, clutching his chest dramatically.

Hermione smiled and grabbed Harry's other arm. 'What do you think it will be like inside?'

'Why guess?' Fred said, smirking. He looked at George and, without warning, the twins sprinted forward, jerking Harry and Hermione along with them. Hermione squeaked in surprise as her feet tumbled over the path.

'Boys!' Harry heard Mrs Weasley yell from behind them. 'Stop!'

'When we get to the door!' George shouted in reply.

In reality, they stopped when they reached the split in the path that led to the staircase. Hermione let go of Harry's arm and panted, clutching her sides.

'Weddings are so boring,' Fred remarked idly, leaning against the bricks.

'Such is the tragic price of bachelor party!' George observed.

'You two!' Mrs Weasley shouted, so far behind them that it was no louder than a whisper.

'I suggest that we press on, Fred,' George said, cringing. Fred nodded fervently as he observed his mother quicken her pace.

'Pip pip!' The twins bowed ludicrously to Harry and Hermione and then rushed away in the direction of the stairs on the left.

'They'll never grow up!' Hermione lamented. Harry agreed, though he was quite glad of it.


	3. De la Coeur

**A/N:** Thanks for your reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks again to Clara Minutes for beta reading for me. All praise and constructive criticism is appreciated._**  
**_

_**Chapter Three: Of the Heart**_

Harry and Hermione decided to wait for the others to catch up, neither sure of how to act when they entered and thinking it was better for Mrs Weasley and Bill to take the lead. It only took a few minutes for most of the Weasley clan to reach them, Mrs Weasley apologizing for Fred and George's behaviour, shaking her fist when saying their names. Following behind her, Harry and Hermione climbed the stairs and approached the open door.

Harry's first glimpse within showed the inside to be as opulent as would be expected from the front, with a sparkling white floor and two sweeping staircases on either side of the entrance hall. But he had little time to take in the sight before a tall, thin old wizard strode toward them, a skinny, insubstantial witch on his arm. He looked like a stretched and sharpened version of Dumbledore with a much less kind face: a long, skinny grey beard ending in a curled, pointed tip and a thick, heavy monobrow that overshadowed his eyes. A crowd of wizards and witches with cameras and quills was following the couple, and Harry blinked as one of their flashes went off in his direction. 'Welcome, welcome!' the wizard said with a French accent.

The wizard and witch couple came to a halt in front of him. 'I 'ope your trip went smoothly?' the wizard asked, the question obviously directed at Harry, who was beginning to doubt that all those cameras were there for wedding photos.

'Er, yeah … I mean, _oui_,' he corrected.

The man laughed, which the others with him took as their cue to do so as well. 'Wonderful, wonderful …' And then, before Harry could protest, the tall, skinny, obsequious man gripped Harry's shoulder and pressed Harry to his side, knocking his glasses askew. The woman went around to Harry's other side and put her hand lightly on his other shoulder, smiling as widely as her lips would stretch. As soon as she was in position, the cameras flashed wildly; Harry squinted against the assaulting light.

When it was over, the pair let him go and, as one, the reporters readied their quills, which worked furiously to keep up with the stream of French the old wizard was speaking. Harry couldn't understand a word of it except for his own name. He shuffled back to Hermione, who was glaring at the man. 'Can't escape it, can I?' he whispered to her.

'You do seem to attract politicians like moths to a flame,' she replied, her glare still going strong. 'They could at least leave you alone at a wedding.'

Mrs Weasley harrumphed loudly. '_Excuse-ez moy!_' she said. The man looked back at her with disdain and, after turning back to smile for the crowd and excuse himself, approached her. The witch with the large false smile took the reporters' attention and led them back down the wide hallway, their voices still ringing loudly and their footsteps pounding in the echoing room as they left.

'_Madame_,' he said coldly, 'allow me to welcome you to my son's 'ome. 'E should be 'ere at any –'

'_Je suis ici, père_.' A younger, though still balding, man walked briskly down the stairs, his eyes narrowed in displeasure. Harry vaguely recalled him from the Triwizard Tournament as Fleur's father. 'I 'ope you 'ave not been bothering zese people?'

'_Non, non_,' the older wizard bowed, taking several steps backward.

Fleur's father came to a stop in front of Bill, to Harry's relief. 'My apologies, Bill,' he said, putting out his hand and smiling at him genuinely. Bill took it, and after a hearty handshake, he continued, 'My fazzer said you were not to arrive for anuzzer ten minutes!' He looked over his shoulder at his father, and the two exchanged a hostile look. 'My dear wife is with your bride at ze moment. You will not be able to see 'er until ze wedding! Ze bride, not my wife,' he clarified, 'zough my wife will not see you eizzer, I theenk, behind 'er tears of joy!'

Bill grinned. '_Merci._'

Mr Delacour moved down the line to shake Mrs Weasley's hand, then Charlie's, and then those of Bill's aunts, uncles, and cousins. Then he got to Harry and Hermione and shook their hands with equal, but not greater, zeal, though he did stare at Harry's scar for several moments before turning back to Bill. 'I see you 'ave already met my fazzer, ze Meenister for Magic 'ere in France.'

'A pleasure, Minister,' Bill said, nodding to the older man, who was standing behind his son with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. The Minister gave only the curtest of nods in reply, glancing at Harry as though his favourite treat was just out of reach.

'Come, I will show you to your rooms so you may prepare for ze wedding,' Mr Delacour said.

'Wait!' Mrs Weasley protested, looking around and between the Weasley relatives in alarm. 'Where are Fred and George? My other two boys,' she clarified.

Mr Delacour blinked. 'I do not know. Zey were 'ere?'

'Yes!' she insisted. 'Where on earth could they have run off to?' Mrs Weasley muttered.

'I do not know,' he repeated. 'Did you 'appen to see in which direction zey went?'

'They separated from us outside,' Hermione replied. Mr Delacour looked at her intently. 'They went left. I didn't see them after that.'

'Those boys are always getting themselves into trouble!' Mrs Weasley rattled.

'I 'ope zey did not try to get into ze backyard,' Mr Delacour said, sounding distressed. 'We 'ave … security … excuse me, I will look for zem.' He began stepping through the throng of Weasleys to the door.'

'I'm sure that's not necessary,' Mrs Weasley called to him. 'I don't want to put you to any trouble.'

'It is no trouble …'

As his footsteps receded down the outside stairway, Fleur's grandfather, who was apparently the Minister for Magic in France, regained the happy air he had practiced earlier. 'Excellent, excellent,' he said, grinning. 'I shall show you around myself.'

'No, thank you,' Bill insisted in a firm voice. 'We can wait for Corentin.'

Harry supposed he meant Mr Delacour, and was relieved, but the French Minister looked insulted. ''E could be a while. Ze … security …,' he said, sniffing, ''as been 'ard to find in the past.'

But only moments later Mr Delacour came back in, his concern vanished. 'Zey will join us later. Zey are fine.'

'Are you sure?' the Minister asked, sounding deadly serious. 'Ze man is –'

Mr Delacour began hissing quietly at his father in French, which made Mrs Weasley look concerned about the twins' whereabouts. When the Minister paled from the lecture, she said, 'Are you quite sure they're fine?'

'Zey _are_ fine, I assure you,' Mr Delacour replied, turning away from his father with an air of dismissal, 'and zey will join us soon. Zey are simply … busy at ze moment.' And with that cryptic comment, he led them up the stairs.

'Don't worry, Mum,' Harry heard Bill tell Mrs Weasley, 'it's perfectly safe, I promise. That's why we're here.' It was this assurance from Bill, who Mrs Weasley had always called level-headed, that managed to calm her.

* * *

Harry had forgotten how lonely life was without Ron. Hermione was with Ginny and Fleur in some secret no-man's land with dresses and flowers and giggles. Harry was in one of the seemingly innumerable rooms in the Delacour mansion; they had so many that everyone could have one to himself despite the mass numbers of the Weasley guests. Harry's room was around the size of the entire top floor of the Dursleys' house, decorated in stately blues and yellows. Harry felt out of place in such lavish quarters all by himself, and thought that it would have been a lot more liveable with Ron there. He was even beginning to imagine Ron there, for comfort, thinking up jokes they would be poking at the Minister and his scrawny wife and speculations they would have made about Fred and George's mysterious disappearance. 

As he was halfway through doing up his dress robes, Harry was startled when his door was opened by the Weasley twins, who walked in with rucksacks in hand as though they owned the place. 'Where have you two been?' he asked.

'What're you, Mum?' Fred countered as George shut the door. 'We were just looking around, is all.'

They dropped their bags in the middle of the room and withdrew their wands. 'And we met Fleur's granddad. Interesting fellow,' George added.

Harry couldn't imagine what Fred and George could find interesting about the French Minister. 'He seemed like just another politician to me,' Harry replied, watching as Fred and George spelled themselves each a bed on either side of Harry's king-sized one.

Fred snorted. 'Him? If he's a politician, I'm the Queen.' He waved his wand and the décor of the room changed from blue to scarlet red and from yellow to shining gold.

'What would you call the Minister for Magic in France, then?' Harry grumbled, adjusting the collar of his robes as Fred and George added yet more flair to the room. He was quite grateful that they were bunking with him; he already felt more at home.

'Minister for Magic?' George said, smirking, throwing himself onto his bed and floating the contents of his bag across the room. 'It would certainly make life more interesting if he was.'

'I don't think we're talking about the same person as he is, George,' Fred said. 'Besides, how could Harry have met him? He was with us since he attacked us.'

'He attacked you?' Harry gaped, looking at the twins for some further explanation.

'Just a little,' George answered, shrugging. 'No hard feelings. We _were_ sort of trespassing.'

'He mostly just startled us, and then he said we scream like Brits –'

'Which was supposed to be a compliment, I think –'

'And we ended up showing him some of our wares –'

'Instant Darkness Powder, Decoy Detonators –'

'He really liked the Decoy Detonators.'

'He likes loud noises generally,' George concluded. 'He's an odd fellow, and certainly not the political type.'

'I didn't realize Fleur could have any decent relatives,' said Fred thoughtfully, pulling on his dress robes.

'Let alone any English ones,' George added, idly tugging down his sleeve.

'Sounds like you got the good grandfather, then,' Harry said. 'The one I was introduced to was only interested in getting pictures with me.'

'That'll teach you for not nosing around,' Fred said in a lecturing tone. 'Merlin, I can't wait for this wedding to be over. I can't believe Mum wants us to take the whole week off here.'

'We've got a business to run,' George reminded him seriously.

'The Galleons we're losing being closed today …' Fred shuddered. 'I suppose you and Hermione don't have anything better to do, though.'

Harry privately disagreed; it seemed to him that defeating Voldemort was a great deal more important than running a joke shop. Of course, Fred and George didn't realize Harry's plans.

'Besides,' George continued, giving Harry an oddly canny look, 'you're much safer here than in Britain.'

'Voldemort could easily cross the English Channel to get me,' Harry said darkly. 'I'm not safe anywhere.'

'Speaking of which …' Fred began, the twins exchanging glances, 'what's this we hear about you dumping our little sister?'

That was the last topic Harry had expected to crop up. 'Dump her? I didn't dump her. We broke up, is all,' he shrugged.

'I don't know that I like you taking such a casual attitude about Ginny's feelings,' George growled, crossing his arms.

'I'm not being casual, it's the truth! We both decided it would be better if we didn't see each other any more.'

'_Sure,_' Fred said, grinning sceptically. 'I'll just bet it was all Ginny's idea.'

Harry glared at them. 'It's not like now is the best time for me to be in a relationship, in case you haven't noticed! Look what happened to Ron!'

The twins immediately turned to each other and the mildly hostile mood in the room changed. 'I knew he did it for some gallant reason,' George pronounced.

'Makes it awfully hard to be mad at him, doesn't it?' Fred said, followed by a long-suffering sigh.

'He hasn't been considerate of our feelings at all,' George agreed. 'I suppose we'll have to forgive him anyway.'

'Thanks,' Harry said, only half-sarcastically.

'We just wish we were getting you for a brother-in-law instead of Fleur for a sister-in-law,' Fred grumbled.

'Life's not fair,' George added, nodding.

At this, Harry was greatly touched.

* * *

Harry thought Fred and George were right about the wedding; nice as it must be for Bill and Fleur, it was dull to watch. They spent about an hour sitting in chairs outside, waiting for it to begin, and then the ceremony itself dragged on as the priest made his speech. Mrs Weasley had to cast a Silencing Spell on herself to keep her sobs from interrupting the ceremony. Harry noticed that Fleur's mother, a radiant, silver-haired half-Veela who nearly outshone her daughter at Fleur's own wedding, had to do the same, though she could at least cry into her husband's shoulder (who was blatantly teary-eyed himself). 

Little Gabrielle, Fleur's sister, sat beside her parents, too old to be a flower girl and too young to be a bridesmaid. Harry looked away quickly, not wanting to encourage Gabrielle's frequent glances at him. He had the feeling that she had developed a crush on him after he rescued her from the mermaid's grotto during the Triwizard Tournament. As often as Gabrielle's gaze was on him, his was drawn to Ginny, who was attracting far too much attention of her own for Harry's liking in her strapless bridesmaid's dress combined with that too-inviting smile of hers.

The reception was no better at first. Harry was dragged into the formal photographs at the Minister's insistence, and felt as though his mere presence was disruptive to the peace when Mr Delacour had to argue with his father several times over Harry's placement. If the Minister could have his way, Harry would be standing in front of the bride and groom, with the Minister himself at his side. _At least Scrimgeour never wanted to make it look as though he and I were married, _he thought, finding some humour in the situation. Eventually one such picture was taken, but the rest had the bride and groom at the forefront. _And I wonder which one will hit the front page of the French papers tomorrow?_

Harry was released after about twenty minutes of this torment and headed straight to the hors d'oeuvres. He had missed breakfast that morning while talking with Ron and had missed lunch quizzing the Weasley twins. He filled up his plate and took a bite; it tasted good enough, but the lightness of the food made him even hungrier than before.

Hermione called out to him and made her way through the crowd. Harry waved; as she got nearer, he noticed a familiar hulking figure he hadn't seen in a long while. 'Krum!' Harry tried to say through a great mouthful of food. Krum's taciturn expression broke into a broad smile when he saw Harry.

'Harry, Viktor's here!' Hermione said, looking up at Krum joyfully.

Krum drew even with Hermione and offered his hand to Harry. Harry grasped it tightly, and the two locked eyes as they engaged in a fierce but friendly handshake. 'It's great to see you again, Krum.'

Krum nodded, his expression back to the usual scowl, though Harry remembered Krum well enough to know he shouldn't take offence.

'Viktor and I just met up a few minutes ago,' Hermione elaborated, speaking loudly to be heard over the crowd. 'There are so many people here that we might have missed each other completely!'

Despite being glad to see Viktor Krum again, Harry couldn't think of a single thing to say to him. He quickly decided on the typical 'What have you been up to these past few years?'

'Quidditch,' Krum replied curtly.

'Ah,' Harry said, now completely out of conversation topics and looking at Hermione, hoping she could carry on.

As luck would have it, Ginny, in that bridesmaid's dress that showed off far too much of her figure, burst through a wall of men in tuxedos. 'Hermione, they need us for bridesmaid pictures,' she informed her breathlessly, grabbing her arm and pulling her back the way she came.

'Be back in a bit!' Hermione called to them as she was led off.

Harry and Krum were left alone, looking anywhere but each other. Harry stared down at Krum's shoes, shuffling from one foot to the other. 'Er, so, any good Quidditch matches?' he asked, looking up briefly.

Krum shrugged, and Harry breathed out a sigh of discomfort.

'Harry,' Krum began. Harry looked up at Krum; hands in his pockets, slouched, and staring at the floor, Krum looked just as discomposed as Harry felt. 'I vant to haff a vord.'

Harry, with a brief and unpleasant flashback to the last time he had heard Krum ask him for a moment alone, nodded, and the two managed to eke their way through the spread of guests into the relative privacy of a corner just outside the reception room.

Harry leaned against the wall. Krum looked him in the eye intensely, and Harry was wondering if this would be about Hermione again, in which case he had every intention of telling Krum that Hermione was with Ron now, thanks very much. But after looking side to side to make sure no one was near enough to hear, he asked, in a conspiratorial whisper, 'Do you still play Quidditch?'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Yeah, why?'

Krum frowned as though not expecting to be questioned about his interest. Looking nervous, he said, 'There's a man named Kneen.'

After waiting several moments for some follow-up, Harry prompted him. 'And?'

Krum's large squared fingers twitched as though imagining themselves reaching for a Snitch. 'You should talk vith him.'

'Why?'

'He is a Quidditch scout. You are very good.'

Harry blinked rapidly in surprise, his mouth falling open. Viktor Krum thought he should go pro? His mouth soon snapped shut as his brain caught up with his heart and he remembered that now was not a time for Quidditch. 'I, uh, thanks, Krum, _really_, but –'

'He could put you vith the Heidelberg Harriers,' Krum continued forcefully. 'They are looking for a new Seeker.'

'The German team?'

Krum nodded again, his strained features making it clear that he was not accustomed to stringing so many English words together. 'Or there are the Woolongong Wanderers.'

'_Australia_?' Harry's eyebrows just about climbed up into his hairline.

Again, Krum nodded grimly. His face drooped. 'It is no good for you in England right now.'

Harry immediately realized what this was all about. 'Krum, I appreciate your concern,' Harry said sincerely, 'but I can't leave England now. I have to fight.'

'You are too young to fight,' Krum said, glowering.

'I'm turning seventeen this month,' Harry replied. Krum just stared. 'And I've fought Voldemort before, you know!'

'You haff been lucky,' Krum said seriously. He took out a card from the pocket of his robes. 'In case you change your mind.' He forced the card into Harry's hand. 'Take care.' Then Krum turned his back on Harry and returned to the reception.

Harry stood there stupefied, staring at the space where Krum had disappeared into the crowd.

'Good advice.'

Harry jumped and circled around. Tired and hungry, with the disappointment of having to turn down the Quidditch offer still swirling in his head, he wasn't much in the mood for talking anymore. 'Another expert on my life, are you?' he challenged.

The man was exactly as tall as Harry, their eyes level. He had messy silver hair and a mischievous glint in his eye that made him look almost young. His wrinkled face crinkled into a smile. 'I'm just security,' he said, Harry registering his English accent. 'Call me Will.' He extended his hand, which Harry shook unenthusiastically.

Will's expression was unfazed by Harry's lukewarm reaction. 'My granddaughter has told me a lot about you,' he continued, his hand rising to grip Harry's shoulder. Harry fought off a wave of discomfort. 'She thinks quite highly of you.'

_This must be the decent grandfather, then_. Remembering the high opinion of the Weasley twins, Harry decided to be more polite. 'You must be very happy for your granddaughter.'

He gave a short laugh. 'I meant Gabrielle, not Fleur, though she likes you too. But yes, I am happy for her. The man has the face of a troll, but she thinks he's the bee's knees, so it's all right by me. My marriage wasn't normal, so who am I to throw stones?' He flashed a lopsided smile.

Harry briefly wondered what he meant until he remembered that one of Fleur's grandmothers had been a Veela, and that probably made for an odd match to say the least. He wasn't too happy with the comment about Bill, but at least Fleur's grandfather wasn't opposed to the marriage.

Will put his arm around Harry and led him away from the reception. 'So you're Harry Potter. I thought you would be taller.' He chuckled. 'I bet you get that all the time.'

Harry didn't know how to respond, so he stayed silent as the noise of the reception dulled. He couldn't help but watch Will walking, for it was the most unusual walk he'd ever seen, a combination of tipsy arm gestures in the air and an almost feminine sway. Soon he spoke again. 'You're just the sort of person I expected, though. Gryffindor, I take it?' he asked. When Harry nodded, Will's face turned wistful. 'I was in Hufflepuff, myself. Highly underrated, Hufflepuff. Going into your last year?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said. It wasn't true, but telling a white lie during small talk with a man he'd just met didn't prick Harry's conscience any. Much.

'You're a terrible liar,' Will responded. Harry stopped dead in his tracks; the man faced him, his eyebrows raised and his wand tapping at Harry arm as if to scold him. 'You're going to want to work on that. Half the battle takes place in the mind. Best you could do is win the physical bit and come out even. Not too useful.' He stroked his chin and rocked back and forth on his heels. Then he seemed to spot something in the air and directed his attention to it, his head swaying.

Harry didn't think he liked Will. There was something about the way he moved and talked that gave Harry the impression he wasn't entirely … sane. 'Excuse me. I should get back to the reception.'

'Excellent idea!' Will declared, either unaware or wilfully ignoring Harry's attempt to escape him. 'If that old goat Delacour is done taking pictures, maybe I'll manage to get in one with my granddaughter. I don't get on with that poncy French blighter.'

* * *

The Minister was not done directing the photo shoot, and Will baldly refused to go near the Minister, so Harry was saddled with Will following him around. When Harry sat down, Will took a seat next to him, disregarding the nameplates. For the next half hour Will carried on the conversation, though Harry considered it more of a monologue. Every couple of minutes were punctuated by some slur on the French, which made Harry wonder why the man had decided to live in France for longer than Harry had been alive. Even so, Will's voice had a sort of inflection to it that made him sound too interesting to be ignored no matter what he said, so Harry listened casually, finally managing to clean off the plate of food he had piled up before, not caring that some of it was unappetizingly cold. 

'Oi, Will!'

The man stopped mid-sentence. 'Lads!' he greeted cheerily.

Fred and George Weasley pulled up a couple of chairs in front of Harry and Will. 'Bored stiff yet?' Will asked. The twins smirked and nodded. Loudly, he added, 'I do hope you've come up with something to rescue us from this monotony?'

The twins shrank away. 'Er, we didn't think it right to disrupt a wedding …'

'Nonsense!' Will argued. 'Best place for a dollop of laughter and explosions, if you ask me. Oh!' Will's attention was caught by some movement at the bar. 'Thank Hufflepuff, they're getting rid of that cocktail garbage and getting to the good stuff!' Without so much as a goodbye, Will got up and swaggered to the bar.

'He's not playing with a full deck, is he?' Harry said, leaning over conspiratorially and tapping a finger to the side of his head.

'Fleur says he went funny after his wife died,' Fred said, a touch of rebuke in his tone.

'Oh.'

'He's a nice bloke. And coming over here was a good excuse for getting away from those ugly cousins of Fleur's.' George's lip curled. 'How is it that she got all the beauty in the family?'

'The others aren't from the Veela side,' Fred said by way of explanation. 'He must have been clever at some point, that Will, to get his hands on a Veela.'

'If he wrote a book on how to do it, it would be a bestseller!' George said, laughing.

The twins stayed with him through the first dance of the bride and groom and moved names around so they were sitting by him at dinner. While it was nice having someone to talk to, Harry was now fairly sure that Ron had put them up to hanging around with him. As they talked, Harry watched Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She was getting awfully chummy with Krum in Harry's opinion. And on her other side was Ginny, who was talking with some French bloke, but Harry tried very hard not to look at her at all after the first, helpless glance. _It's none of my business who she talks to_, Harry reminded himself pointedly. _At least with Hermione I have a friend's interests at heart_.

He continued his occasional observations of Hermione as she moved on to the dance floor with Krum. Then Ginny moved to dance near Hermione and Krum with That French Bloke and Harry firmly looked away, putting his full attention into the twins' conversation. So when he was tapped lightly on the shoulder by slim fingers and saw Ginny, her hair up with wisps settled gently around the sides of her face, wearing That Dress and flashing That Smile, he was taken completely unprepared.

'Harry, dance with me,' she said. The twins gaped at her, and Harry nearly spit out the Butterbeer he had been downing.

'You're not supposed to ask _him_!' George protested.

'It's the nineties,' she said simply.

She was almost perfect. The only thing wrong to Harry was that she didn't smell right with perfume on, but he could still taste a flutter of her in the air. How could he refuse? What could any Dark wizard read into him dancing once with his best friend's sister at a wedding? 'Sure,' he said, less casually than he'd been trying for.

Her smile broadened, and she held out her hand to him as he stood. Feeling blatantly inadequate next to her wearing nothing fancier than he had at the Yule Ball at the age of fourteen while she was standing in front of him dressed like a princess, he self-consciously took her hand and tried very hard to look tall and charming like That French Bloke had.

It wasn't until he got to the dance floor that Harry realized he hadn't danced for over two years, and then only poorly. The next song came on: it was a slow dance. _Merlin save me_, he pleaded.

Surviving a Killing Curse was less a miracle to Harry than managing not to embarrass himself in the first minute. He wasn't nearly so good a dancer as That French Bloke, he knew, but he wasn't the worst on the floor. Fred and George had somehow found partners out of Fleur's distinctly less pretty cousins in the short space of time between Ginny leading him off and the start of the dance and were doing everything in their power to trod on toes and bump into other couples. Harry knew they could dance from the Yule Ball, so he realized they must be doing it to take some heat off him; if he missed a step, it would look like nothing in comparison. Never before had he realized just how cool the twins were. He and Ginny both laughed as Fred's partner stalked off the dance floor in a huff.

During the dance they ended up near Hermione and Krum. 'Hi Harry,' Hermione greeted him, smiling. Harry nodded to her briskly, grimacing, and her smile fell; he was pretty sure he had gotten across the message that he wasn't impressed when she and Krum quickly moved off.

'They're just friends,' Ginny said reproachfully.

'Then why are they dancing together?'

Ginny raised her eyebrows, her lips curling into a sardonic smile. Harry flushed as he realized what he'd just said. 'My mum danced with Mr Delacour, and somehow I don't think she's intending to leave my dad,' she retorted, still smiling at Harry's _faux pas_.

'Er, yeah, right, completely right,' Harry stuttered, keen to get off the topic. 'So, er, having a good time?'

'Right now, or in general?'

Harry was at that moment powerfully aware of his hand on her waist, his fingers starting to sweat. 'In general,' Harry clarified.

'It's been nice enough,' she replied. 'Bill is very happy.'

'Food's too light,' Harry commented. Ginny giggled softly, shaking her head, and Harry's mouth went dry at the sight of her.

The song ended and he slowly removed his hands. They loitered in the middle of the dance floor. 'I guess I should get going,' Harry said after a while.

Ginny looked up at him sadly. 'Yes.'

'Well, uh, bye.'

'Bye.'

* * *

Lying in bed staring at the darkened wall in the guest room that night, the twins not yet back from whatever mischief they were up to, he wondered what had possessed Ginny to ask him to dance. He wasn't unhappy about it, but it did scare him a little. Every time he was near her he wondered how he would go on without her for the foreseeable future. _Ruddy R.A.B._ _Ruddy cup, ruddy snake, ruddy_ … 

Love. There was Bill and Fleur, in the first flush of marriage and off on their honeymoon. Then there were those couples who were happily married for ages and their love never managed to die, like Mr and Mrs Weasley. And then there was Fleur's grandfather, drinking his pain away after losing his wife of who knew how many years; and he and Ginny, who might never have a real chance at all. Would it all end tragically? Bill was in the Order, as were Mr and Mrs Weasley. _Will Fleur end up pining for Bill? Will Mrs Weasley lose Mr Weasley? Maybe the other way around?_ _Would Ginny mourn me, if …?_ The thought made him shudder. He didn't want her to be unhappy, but he did want to be loved, and by her. He wanted to run away with her to the other side of the globe. _But Bill, Mr Weasley …_

For the umpteenth time that evening Harry told himself that _this_ was why he couldn't possibly run off to Australia. He could never consider the offer seriously for a fraction of a second anyway, with all the sacrifices already made now depending on him to prove they weren't in vain, but the fantasy of slipping away at night with Ginny, not a care in the world, was still a pleasant one. _Not that she would go with me. _He remembered the way she had hugged her father the morning Harry had arrived after leaving Privet Drive. _We both have responsibilities. People we care for and fear for …_

He smothered the embers of his waking dream and rolled over.

_The locket, the cup, the snake, something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's …_


	4. Game Plans

**A/N:** And here we have Chapter 4! I hope you all enjoy it. Time for Harry and Co. to get into the game. Thanks to my beta, Clara Minutes. Please review with any praise or constructive criticism._**  
**_

_**Chapter Four: Game Plan**_

'I don't know, Harry. I just don't know.'

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were settled into Ron and Harry's room in a wizarding-style inn. Ron had arrived via Portkey that evening (without his father, who was needed desperately at the office); Harry and Hermione had taken the French Floo Network.

Ron, lying boneless on his single bed, crooked his head toward her. 'You're supposed to … be the brains,' he said, yawning halfway through.

Hermione glowered. 'I can't very well pull the answer out of thin air with no resources,' she said primly. 'We simply must wait until we return to England.'

'But we don't have the time!' Harry protested. He knew that wasn't entirely true, perhaps, but it _could_ be true, and there was no way he could stand another three days on "vacation" without making some progress. He had been a bundle of nerves ever since the wedding.

'We don't have a choice,' Hermione said reasonably, sitting cross-legged on the floor, back straight and hands in her lap with her eyes closed. 'We don't have any way to research R.A.B. or the Horcruxes from here.'

'But how _will_ we research the Horcruxes, anyway?' Harry demanded, continuing his pacing about the room. 'It's not as though there's any book in the library that says "And oh, by the way, if you're looking for the Horcruxes of the Darkest wizard to ever live, here are a few places to check."'

'We should start with R.A.B.' Hermione said serenely. 'He – or _she_ – is our only link to any Horcrux at all. And we can't figure out who he –'

'Or _she_,' Ron inserted, the sliver of a mocking smile curling his lips.

Hermione's calm image was unsettled by her unamused glare. 'We cannot find out more information about R.A.B. without research materials.'

'But we're not going back to Hogwarts! And even if we were, I'm not waiting nearly two whole months on my arse!'

'Of course not,' Hermione replied. Musing, she added, 'In fact, I don't think Hogwarts will necessarily have what we need.'

'And that is?' Harry asked, irritation in his voice as he paced faster.

'Stop that, Harry, it's annoying.'

Harry stopped pacing. He stood in front of her, his hands on his hips, looking down expectantly.

'What we need is a list of all the magical people in England whose initials are R.A.B., as well as a list of all the witches and wizards that Voldemort or the Death Eaters are suspected to have had a hand in killing with those initials.'

'That's right,' Ron poked in. 'The bloke thought he was going to die, didn't he?'

'And where are we going to get that?' Harry asked, partially appeased now that they were coming up with a real plan of action. He sat cross-legged in front of Hermione, his head leaning on his fist.

Hermione looked down at her lap, then at Harry. 'Harry, I don't see how anyone other than a Ministry official could get this sort of data for us.'

Ron rolled over to a sitting position on the side of the bed. 'That's fine, then. My dad will scrounge it up.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'And how are we supposed to ask him to get that for us?'

'We could tell him about –'

'No,' Harry cut in, turning his head to face Ron. 'We're not telling anyone about what we're doing. It's dangerous enough for you two to know. If we tell Mr Weasley and Voldemort gets to him …'

'My dad wouldn't squeal!' Ron protested.

'We're not saying he would, Ron,' Hermione sighed, 'but he would be tortured for it if they thought he knew what Harry was planning.'

'And Voldemort's an expert Legilimens,' Harry argued. 'Mr Weasley wouldn't have to give up the information; Voldemort would be all too glad to tear it from his mind.'

'And then he might move the Horcruxes to somewhere even safer,' Hermione said. 'We might never find them.'

'Okay, okay, you had me convinced at the torture part,' Ron conceded. 'Can't we just ask him to get it without telling him anything?'

'Even if he would do it without us giving him a reason, he's probably being watched. You are Harry's best friend after all, and your family is known to be sympathetic to Muggles and Muggleborns. If Mr Weasley were to ask for bizarre Ministry data like that, people would start thinking he knew something.'

'And then the torture. Right.' Ron bit his lip, looking pained at the mere thought of it.

'I don't want to cause Mr Weasley any trouble,' Harry said firmly. 'We'll leave him out of it.'

'So what will we do?' Ron asked.

'That's what I'm not sure of,' Hermione fretted. She uncrossed her legs and stood up stiffly, pacing the room as Harry had before. 'We need a Ministry contact who wouldn't raise any eyebrows asking for statistics like that.'

'What about one of the Aurors in the Order, like Kingsley or Tonks?' Harry suggested. 'It wouldn't look strange for one of them to ask for that information. They could say they're looking up a suspect.'

'Kingsley would be better than Tonks. He's less likely to ask questions, and Tonks talks a lot,' Ron added.

'And she would probably ask Remus if he knew what we're up to,' Hermione continued, cringing.

'Okay, so we'll ask Kingsley,' Harry said decisively. 'Er, when? How? It's not like we see him regularly.'

'We could write him a letter,' Hermione suggested.

'Yeah, because I'm sure Voldemort's not going to have people trying to read my mail,' said Harry sarcastically.

'I'll ask Mum if it wouldn't be nice to invite him over for dinner,' Ron grinned. 'He'll come over and we'll lead him someplace private to talk to him.'

'Brilliant!' Hermione praised him. Ron went red around the ears.

'But we still have to wait until we get back to Britain,' Harry muttered.

'Yes, which means _you_,' she nudged him with her toe, 'can relax a few days. Mr Weasley was right, you know. The world isn't going to end if you relax a while.'

* * *

Harry tried to relax, he really did. He hadn't done too badly when they had been visiting the French countryside, even as he worried about Horcruxes, but in Paris he was a lost cause. The wizarding population there seemed to have been told he would be visiting, and his celebrity there was just as great as in Britain, but his presence more of a novelty. He, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Mrs Weasley, the only ones on the tour since Fred and George had insisted on returning to Britain for their shop and Charlie had left for his dragons, had run into a wall of onlookers barely five minutes after entering the French version of Diagon Alley (it was the same except people weren't clustered together out of fear and there were a lot more clothing stores). 

It took several dozen photographs and more handshakes than Harry could count to make an escape, and even then people came up to him on the street every five minutes to meet him. He tried to take it well, especially since many of the people were there with their children. The children looked at him wide-eyed and asked difficult questions, which their parents then translated ('Are you going to kill the bad man? How come you didn't die? Do you have a girlfriend?').

It was a constant reminder of who he was and what was expected of him. He found it more relaxing than the entire vacation to walk up the path to the Weasleys' back door and open it to breathe in stale air and the permeating odour of a week of takeout dinners and untaken-out garbage.

'Home!' Ron said with relief as he entered, dropping his suitcase to the floor with a clank. 'I never thought I'd be so glad to see this place!'

'Same here,' Ginny agreed. 'Vacationing is exhausting!' She didn't drop her bag nearly so carelessly as Ron had since she had bought some breakable souvenirs, but her relief in setting it down appeared equal.

Harry dropped his rucksack on the floor of his room (or more accurately Fred and George's room, but Harry was coming to think of it as his) with equal zeal. He was thankful to be back in a place where he was considered normal, or at least as normal as anyone had ever considered him.

His first thought upon arrival was that he should take a look at the last week's issues of the _Daily Prophet_ to see if anything awful had happened. But he couldn't find any newspapers in the kitchen, which looked as though it had imploded in Mrs Weasley's absence.

Mrs Weasley was already at the sink, scrubbing like mad, looking around her in a panic. 'Is there something you need, Harry dear?'

'I was wondering if there were any issues of the _Prophet_ lying around,' he said.

Mrs Weasley stopped scrubbing and turned her head. 'Nothing has happened except the usual,' she said simply. 'Don't worry yourself.'

He blinked at her. 'How do you know?' He wondered if Mr Weasley had sent owls to her about it, but it took so long to send an owl that far …

'There _are_ English newspapers in France, Harry,' Hermione said, coming up behind him.

'Really?' he replied, his eyes wide in surprise. 'How come no one told me?'

'Because we were on vacation,' Mrs Weasley said firmly.

'Honestly, Harry, nothing _absolutely_ terrible happened.' Hermione assured him. Harry wondered what sort of times they must live in to have gradations in how terrible something was (_mildly_ terrible, terrible, _absolutely_ terrible, _catastrophic_ …)

'What was it?' he asked. 'I'm going to find out anyway …'

'Just a few Muggles tortured and some houses burned down. The Ministry's worried about it being so quiet.' Mrs Weasley spoke the last sentence softly, an undercurrent of concern flowing clearly in her words. Seeming to struggle for a moment, she continued in nearly a whisper, 'It was always quiet before something terrible, before.'

'And it was written that the Muggle media is having a hard time spinning some odd occurrences,' Hermione added. 'You wouldn't think a paper in France would be so detailed, but I suppose what's happening in England is the big headline these days.'

'It's not as though Voldemort would stop at England if he won,' Harry replied.

Hermione was silent after that. Mrs Weasley, after a perceptible shudder, went back to her dishes, the sound from her scrubbing coming faster and louder than before.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt was not invited to dinner until several days later, as Mrs Weasley needed to recover from the stress of vacationing with someone who was followed by a mob everywhere he went and bring her home back from the dead. Kingsley came, thankfully; Mr Weasley had been worried that he would be tied up at the office, but luck was with Harry that night, and Shacklebolt had managed to slip away for a meal before his next shift that evening. 

After dinner, Harry managed to get Kingsley alone. He had been hoping that Ron and Hermione could back him up, but they were busy diverting the rest of the Weasley family with vapid conversation. So he snuck Shacklebolt into the living room and sat him down.

'I need a favour,' Harry began.

Kingsley nodded, his face grave. 'Whatever you need, I'll do my best to get it.'

So Harry detailed the information he wanted. He didn't mention the initials R.A.B. specifically, instead asking only for general listings. When Kingsley asked Harry why he needed the information, and Harry replied that he couldn't say just yet ('really, I want to, I do, but it wouldn't be a good idea'), Kingsley accepted it, and said he would get Harry what he needed as soon as possible. Harry didn't specifically ask Kingsley to keep it between the two of them, but their exchanged looks during the clandestine meeting gave Harry the impression that Kingsley knew exactly what he was about.

And so it was that, when Harry heard Mrs Weasley greeting someone at the door the next day and a distorted male voice floated up the stairs, Harry rushed down with intense anticipation, expecting it to be Kingsley. He tried to keep the disappointment from showing on his face when it was revealed to be Remus Lupin and Mad Eye Moody; after all, he really _was_ glad to see Remus again, and didn't want to give him the wrong impression.

'Harry, Remus and Mad Eye are here to see you,' Mrs Weasley announced.

Lupin smiled at him kindly, looking much as he had when Harry last saw him only a couple weeks earlier, though his eyes looked more bloodshot. Moody's magical eye was rolling back in his head to look through the door he had just come in through; his normal one seemed to be staring through Harry.

'Harry, Mad Eye and I want to talk to you,' Remus said.

'We don't want to _talk_,' Moody said gruffly, his wooden leg thumping on the floor as he moved toward the living room. 'We have a proposition to deliver. Then we're off.'

Remus gave Harry a private, exasperated look and followed Moody into the living room. Harry trailed them.

'Now, Potter,' Moody began even as he settled himself into a creaking, well-worn chair, 'we all know you aren't of age yet … heh, there are some folk counting down the days until you are …'

Remus frowned at Moody; Harry thought Remus probably didn't want him to know about all the expectations. 'Mad Eye means that when you _are_ of age, it would be best if you received some additional combat training before going back to Hogwarts –'

'_If_ it reopens,' Moody growled. 'Don't know if they'll manage it without Dumbledore.'

'Regardless of the status of Hogwarts and your own excellent abilities,' Remus continued, swallowing his unusually clear annoyance with Moody, 'there is always more to learn, and I'm sure that between the two of us, we could teach you something you don't already know.'

Harry grinned. Extra instruction in Defence Against the Dark Arts by an Auror and Remus Lupin, the best teacher Harry ever had? 'That sounds great!' he said. Then, the task ahead of him clobbering him on the brain, he added, 'Could Ron and Hermione join us too?'

'They aren't the ones who will be up against Voldemort,' Moody argued.

'I see no reason why not,' Remus said, his face grimacing as he turned to Moody. 'They're going to be in the Order in all likelihood.'

'Auror training is always _one on one_,' Moody countered, glaring at Remus. Harry got the distinct impression that these two were used to knocking heads with each other, but he couldn't recall them arguing before in his presence.

'It wasn't in my day,' Remus replied.

'In your day we were churning out Aurors as fast as possible. Didn't care so much about quality. Got all your training in the field anyway. Died if you weren't cut out for it, lived if you were.'

'Training Ron and Hermione as well as Harry shouldn't be a great hardship. They're both talented young people. Hermione is particularly bright. And in case you hadn't noticed, my day is the same as this day.'

Moody shrugged. 'Fine, don't listen to my advice. You never do. See you in August, Potter, and your friends too, it seems.' With that, Moody clomped bad-temperedly out of the room, slamming the Weasleys' door behind him as he left the house.

'What was that all about?' Harry asked, looking after Moody.

Remus sighed. 'He's been on edge since he found that Dumbledore had left the running of the Order to me instead of to him.'

'You're running the Order now?' Harry asked, his mouth gaping open. _Of course_, he realized, _someone would have to take over after Dumbledore's death._ 'That's great!'

'Not everyone thinks so,' Remus sighed again, frustration in every note. 'Moody's only one of several discontent Order members, though he is by far the most vocal. It was only finalized a few days ago, so I suppose he'll get used to it. I'm also the new Secret-Keeper for headquarters,' he said, the last part in a low whisper.

'You're absolutely qualified,' Harry said sagely, completely certain of what he was saying. 'Dumbledore definitely knew what he was doing. You're good at getting along with people, you're clever, and you have the time to devote to the Order. I can't think of anyone better.'

Remus' looked at him with a grateful, vulnerable expression. 'That really does mean a lot to me, Harry. Truly.'

Harry cheeks went red and he looked away. 'It's just the truth.'

Remus smiled at him. 'To you it is. That's why it means so much.' He lifted the satchel he had brought with him onto his lap and opened it, setting some books on the table. 'I brought some study materials that you might find of interest. It should be enough to keep you occupied until you come of age.'

Harry looked at the titles on the table. They were all concerned with advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts. 'Most of them are titles used in Auror training,' Remus added. 'I realize you can't practice any of it just yet, but reading up on the spells should allow you to learn them faster when you can.'

'Thanks, Remus!' Harry said. While finding the Horcruxes was the most important part of his mission, he painfully remembered how easily Snape had defeated him. _I'm going to work as hard as I can_, he thought, a set look of determination on his face, _and then I'll be ready to take down Voldemort_ and _Snape._

* * *

'That's awesome!' Ron enthused. 

Hermione also looked stunned and amazed. 'Yes, that's wonderful, Harry! How nice of them to include us!' She looked hungrily at the books in Harry's arms.

Harry didn't mention that he had fought to have them allowed into the lessons; he didn't want Hermione or Ron to feel indebted to him or angry at Moody. 'It wasn't nice, just obvious,' Harry replied. 'If you're going to fight with me you should have equal training.' He set the books down next to Hermione, who immediately grabbed the one on top and flipped to the table of contents.

'But they still don't know that we're going after the Horcruxes, do they?' Ron said, sounding suspicious. 'Dumbledore didn't offer to let us in on your training.'

Harry waved off the objection. 'That was different. It was personal. And I told you all about it later.'

'Do you suppose Kingsley will get back to you soon, Harry?' Hermione said, sounding anxious. 'Did he mention when …?'

Harry shook his head. 'It's only been one day. I guess we'll have to be patient for a little while longer. Kingsley must be pretty busy.'

'Aw, it's for you, Harry. He'll get back to you fast. The entire Order practically exists to help you now that Dumbledore's gone,' Ron said.

Hermione frowned, her nose poking out of her book. 'They exist to defeat Voldemort, not to be Harry's uninformed slaves. But I do agree that he won't leave us hanging for long. I only hope we don't have to ask the Order for too many more favours. They'll want to know what we're doing if we demand a lot from them.'

'We'll do most of it on our own,' Harry insisted. 'We …'

Harry trailed off, distracted by a barely noticeable scraping sound against the door. Suspicious, he gestured toward it; Hermione and Ron looked at him in confusion. Just before Ron was going to blurt something out, Harry put his finger to his lips, calling for silence. 'We've got a lot of work ahead of us,' Harry said very loudly, creeping toward the door. 'But together, we'll –'

He threw the door open and ran down the length of the string, across the hall and up the stairs. The Extendable Ear was rolling up rapidly as though realizing that its user was about to get caught unless it escaped faster than Harry could run. In the end, Harry had too much of a head start; just as he reached the door from which it had originated, the Extendable Ear wiggled underneath the crack. Harry opened the door to find Ginny Weasley sitting near it, the Ear rolled up in her hand.

'What are you doing, listening in on us?' Harry demanded.

Ginny, her face flushed but her expression fierce, replied, 'Nothing that _you_ didn't do when the Order was leaving _you_ out of conversations!' She stood up and faced him angrily. 'I want to know what's going on! I'm only a couple months younger than you but I'm still treated like a child even while you and Hermione and Ron are planning something behind the Order's back!'

'You'd better not tell anyone about what you heard!' Harry demanded. Ron and Hermione came up behind him. They looked at the two awkwardly, seeming to wish they hadn't followed Harry at all.

'I just want to be involved!' Ginny argued. 'I'm not going to tattle on you!'

Harry was furious now. Didn't she realize that the entire point of keeping her far away from what he was doing was to protect her? Didn't she realize he wanted her to be kept safe? He didn't know what he'd do if anything happened to her. 'You can't be involved, Ginny. It's too dangerous!'

'That's just what the Order would have said to you a couple of years ago when _you_ were using Extendable Ears!'

He hadn't ever seen Ginny so angry. She was glaring at him with a fury he had never associated with her, her hands balled into fists and the Extendable Ear thrown carelessly onto the floor. She looked as though she might throttle him. Tenderness welled up inside him that quelled his own anger at her. 'And the Order was right,' Harry said, calm and sad. 'I shouldn't have tried to listen in on their private conversations. None of us should have. If I had left the battle to them then, Sirius would still be alive.' It surprised him, mildly, to be able to say that without pain … to say it as plain, simple truth … 'I was wrong, Ginny, and you're wrong to do it now. Hermione's going to spell the door so Extendable Ears won't work anymore. Don't try it again.'

The fury on Ginny's face wasn't touched by his words, but Harry had nothing more to say, so he turned his back on her and left, Ron and Hermione trailing him, an uncomfortable silence in the air.

* * *

'Isn't this interesting?' Hermione remarked upon seeing the story on the front page of the paper the next day. 

'Interesting is better than awful, right?' Ron said, looking nervously across the table at her.

Hermione hummed in agreement, her eyes skirting the article before she read it out loud.

'_CHOSEN ONE DRUMMING UP SUPPORT ABROAD, MINISTER SAYS_

_The Boy Who Lived has used his recent trip to France to speak with the French Minister for Magic, Julien Delacour, regarding international cooperation between Britain and France in the battle against He Who Must Not Be Named, says British Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour._

_"Harry, who is a close personal friend, gladly accepted the task," Scrimgeour told this reporter late last night. "He wants to do everything possible to rally support for our cause from our close neighbour to the south."_

_His words are supported by several pictures appearing in the French newspapers over the past week showing the Chosen One in the company of the French Minister, as well as many other Parisian witches and wizards.'_

'Most of the rest isn't worth reading,' Hermione said, scanning downward. 'Oh, here's a good part.'

_… 'When asked whether Mr Potter intends to visit other European nations, the Minister replied that he has not discussed the matter, but said "he is certain that Harry will do whatever is necessary to assist the Ministry in these troubled times." When this reporter further questioned the Minister about the Chosen One's expected entry into politics once he is of age on July 31st of this year, the Minister stated that he was unaware of any such intention on Mr Potter's part. "My friend Harry has a great many things to work on," the Minister said, "and the running of a country would be a great deal to ask of such a young man with so much on his shoulders as it is."_

_The French Minister could not be reached for comment, although he has been quoted in the Diviner's Star, a English-language paper in France, as saying, "Harry Potter and I spoke of a great many things, and I am sure we will be close friends in the years to come."'_

'Rubbish,' Ron muttered. 'Complete rubbish.'

'Not entirely,' Hermione said mildly, sipping some pumpkin juice. 'Harry did tell the Minister that he has no intention of going into politics.'

'I certainly didn't give Scrimgeour the impression we were buddies, though,' Harry countered.

'Yeah,' Ron glowered. 'He was going to send me to Azkaban if Harry didn't do what he said!' He pounded his fist on the table, sloshing his drink.

'It makes perfect sense politically,' Hermione continued. 'Harry made it completely clear that he doesn't want to be involved in public life, so the Minister doesn't expect to be contradicted.'

'He's right,' Harry admitted. 'I don't care if the wizarding world thinks he and I are friends. _We_ know different. But I don't like him using me.'

'Maybe it's better this way,' Hermione commented.

'How could it be better this way?' Ron asked her incredulously.

'If the Minister feels secure in his position, he won't be so hostile to Harry,' she reasoned.

'I guess I don't need more enemies,' Harry replied. 'And he's not nearly so bad a Minister for Magic as Fudge was.' He paused, then said, 'I feel guilty. If I went into politics and removed Scrimgeour from the Ministry, I could get Stan Shunpike released and make sure no one is ever sent to Azkaban without trial like Sirius again.'

Hermione smiled sadly at him. 'You can't fix everything. We have to focus on … well, you know …' she trailed off as Mrs Weasley entered the kitchen.

Harry sighed. 'I know you're right.'

'Right about what, dear?' Mrs Weasley asked curiously.

'Nothing important, Mrs Weasley,' Hermione replied.

A short time later Ginny entered the kitchen. The atmosphere was immediately tense. None of them had spoken to Ginny since the previous evening; not even Hermione, who shared a room with her. Hermione pretended to be held rapt by the newspaper, Ron looked down at his food with newfound fascination, and Harry, who was facing a window, looked out into the Weasleys' backyard.

That became more difficult when Ginny sat down in front of him, her head blocking Harry's view. She gazed down at her lap as she mechanically gathered food onto her plate. They all ate in silence, aside from Mrs Weasley's occasional attempts to start a conversation; she was clearly confused about what was wrong. Eventually Mrs Weasley gave up and left to read in the living room. Hermione and Ron soon made a hasty retreat.

Immediately after Ron quietly shut the door behind him, Ginny spoke. 'Harry, I'm really sorry,' she said quietly, not looking up. 'I won't invade your privacy again.'

'It's all right, Ginny,' Harry said sincerely. That was all that needed to be said between them before their eyes were drawn to each other's, Ginny clearly just as pleased to have Harry's forgiveness as Harry was to have the anger between them gone.

The rest of the day passed quietly as Harry, Hermione and Ron read. Harry and Ron were both unusually focused. Harry had to admit that the words were beginning to swim after a few hours – he knew he didn't have Hermione's temperament for reading – but he plunged forward, determined that if this was the best contribution he could make until he turned seventeen, he would pour everything he had into it.


	5. Minerva's Day

**A/N: **Thanks again to Clara Minutes for betaing this fic, and thanks to all those who have reviewed previous chapters. Chapter Five strays from Harry's perspective to take up the point of view of Minerva McGonagall on a very important day. Enjoy and review!

**_Chapter Five: Minerva's Day_**

The walls were made of old, immaculately polished dark wood that made the room feel small and shadowy, crowded and stifling. The sixteen others in the room with Minerva McGonagall looked uncomfortable enough that she could believe they felt the same. Hagrid's girth was no help at all.

She stood at the front of the room, near the door, and felt the urge to open it, if only to let some air in. Yet these were, specifically, closed door proceedings, as outlined in the Code, so the door stayed shut. An idle thought crossed her mind: _This is just the sort of room these board members would love. Rich. Imperious. Uninviting. _She looked to Hagrid, sitting on three chairs at the back of the room, next to the lip-chewing Pomona Sprout, who herself was next to the short and fidgety Filius Flitwick, who was to the right of the flushed Horace Slughorn. _Or maybe not. Even Horace doesn't like it in here._

The governors were looking at her expectantly from their plush chairs around their heavy table; she cleared her throat and straightened her hat. 'A good day to you all,' she said.

Tiberius Ogden's chair squeaked as he pushed it back and stood. 'Good day to you, Professor,' he said, sounding as though he was saying something very important instead of a how-do-you-do, but that was the way it always was with Tiberius. Minerva did not think him arrogant, exactly; it was just that he spoke the way many old-time politicians did, the timbre of his voice ever-changing, pauses in just the right places to keep suspense, and thereby attention. 'Or, rather, Headmistress. My apologies.' He bowed his head.

'That is quite all right, Tiberius,' Minerva replied stiffly.

'I would like to say,' he continued, in that way of his that seemed as though he was not quite interrupting, 'that you have done a marvellous job of keeping things together since the tragic loss of Albus Dumbledore.'

Minerva had not thought of it as tragic for nearly two weeks. She knew that Albus would not think it so. 'We all give you our sincerest gratitude,' he continued.

'Hear hear!' It was Octave Toothill, a round and jolly old man. It was impossible to get anything but nonsense out of him.

The others responded with a 'Hear hear!' and Minerva gave a curt nod. She wanted to get this over with, not spend an hour listening to everyone congratulate each other, so she decided to continue before Tiberius could get on a roll.

'I want you all to know that I've given a lot of thought to what my recommendation should be regarding whether or not Hogwarts should close,' Minerva said. 'The final decision rests with you, naturally, but I hope you will consent to listen to my colleagues and myself as we present our case.'

'Of course, Minerva,' Tiberius replied, as though a question had been asked. 'Pray continue.'

She did so without delay. 'Despite the presence of Albus Dumbledore and of a team of Aurors, not only were there several attempts at murder at or near Hogwarts perpetrated on Hogwarts students, but Death Eaters, with the help of a student and one of our own staff, managed to breach the castle's defences.'

The governors looked to each other with meaningful expressions, clearly sure of what the rest of her message would bring and already organizing voting blocs. She cleared her throat loudly, and most of them turned their attention back to her, though they appeared unconvinced that it was worthwhile to do so.

'It may seem that, with Mr Snape and Mr Malfoy departed from Hogwarts for as long as I draw breath, the greatest weapons against Hogwarts have been removed.' A chorus of dissenting voices interrupted; with the same glare she perfected in the classroom, she made them silent. 'Yet, with the murder of Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts has also lost her greatest protector. And while more enemies may come out of the woodwork at any moment from the ranks of our own students and even our staff, a protector like Albus cannot be replaced so easily.'

'Indeed not!'

'I quite agree!'

'Hear hear!'

'_So_,' she said sharply, 'I cannot, in good conscience, say that Hogwarts is a safe place for parents to send their children.'

This time it was Hagrid who interrupted in protest. 'Professor –'

'_Headmistress_, Hagrid,' she reminded him, speaking over top of him with little effort, for though his voice was louder, hers had more training in gaining attention. 'Please let me finish. Hogwarts is not a safe place for children, but are their homes any safer? I do not think they are. We find ourselves in a quandary, for the safety of children is our most sacred business, but neither of the two roads facing us will provide them with that safety. I cannot recommend that Hogwarts reopen next year ...' She waited a moment, expecting protest, but the room was still. 'But nor can I recommend that children wait in their homes to die. What would have become of Hannah Abbott without Hogwarts last year? Would she have been killed along with her mother?'

Minerva took a deep breath to steady herself; she was becoming too passionate for her health. Her heart beat frantically in her chest. _Calm, Minerva, calm_. 'I think,' she continued, 'that we must find ourselves another option. This cannot be a question of keeping children in an unsafe school and keeping them in unsafe homes. Parents must have other options if they are not to go mad.'

'What other option is there?' Mathias Ellerby asked, glaring at her behind bushy eyebrows and a bulldog's face. 'We cannot protect the children; we cannot even protect ourselves! Better for them to be getting an education while in mortal danger than sitting around with nothing constructive to do!'

'Wonderful idea, Ellerby!' Keddle replied, sneering. 'Let's put all the children in one place to be abducted and held ransom to keep their parents as slaves!'

'Both arguments are valid,' McGonagall acknowledged, 'but they are based upon a false dilemma. It is not a question of children being targets at Hogwarts or targets at home. There is another option that I beg the board to consider.'

McGonagall's eyes raised to look into Hagrid's. With a glum, resigned look on his face, he stomped up to the front of the room, squeezing by the board members, and took centre stage.

'Right,' he grumbled, facing the blatantly curious and sceptical school governors. 'Here's what we got fer yeh.'  
_

* * *

'Madness …'_

_'It's never been done before … not even _before_ …'_

_'The parents will never agree …'_

_'… not compulsory …'_

Minerva squeezed her brow between her fingers, feeling the full force of a headache built from hours of arguing, shouting and bargaining with the governors. _It's done_, she reminded herself forcefully. _Albus would be proud._ Her face looked pained, and not entirely due to the headache. _Wouldn't he be? _Will _he be?_

The echo of her footsteps in the silent hall did nothing to soothe her nerves. It was strange for Hogwarts to be so empty. True enough, there were no students there during the summer, but usually some painting or ghost or _Peeves_ was causing trouble. She stopped walking and listened, but could hear nothing above or below; never in all her years at Hogwarts had the castle been so still. The paintings were motionless, almost Muggle.

A chill ran up Minerva's spine, as though someone had stepped on her grave. It seemed as though there was something eerie in the walls that she had never felt before, that had always been too masked by action and noise to be noticed. A breeze hit her face softly from out of nowhere, cold like a ghost passing through, but feeling horribly, terribly _wrong_ …

'Headmistress?'

Minerva jumped. When she saw, or saw through, Nearly-Headless Nick, she clutched her frantically beating heart and let out a relieved breath. 'I'm too old for such shocks, you know,' she scolded.

'My apologies.' He bowed, his head flopping. His eyes gazed up at her from his bowed position with greater interest than she had ever seen on his face. _Of course, the castle residents will want to know …_

He stood back up again, his look intense. 'I have been sent as an emissary by the other ghosts to … well, not to _accost_ you, exactly, but to _humbly request_ any details …?'

Her throat sore from speaking, she replied, in a raspy voice, 'Hogwarts will not be reopening this year.' All at once the paintings came alive again, only for their residents to flee their canvases after quick gasps, shouts, or jaw-drops of dismay to inform the rest of the castle.

Nearly-Headless Nick's mouth was open in shock; he tried to speak for several moments but was tongue-tied. 'I … I … _why?_'

Minerva looked through Nick's belly at a spot on the wall. 'There are reasons,' she said, swallowing. She felt as if she were trying to convince herself more than Nick. Night was falling, and the castle was darker than before. _So many reasons, but it is hard nonetheless._ She walked right through Nick, feeling the familiar shudder, and continued on to her office.

Nick was too flabbergasted to comment on her lack of etiquette, but he soon recovered and flew after her. Minerva walked faster. 'Headmistress!' he cried. 'How can this be? Surely you tried to convince the board –'

'I told them to close Hogwarts,' she replied, her pace increasing.

'You _what_?' Nick gaped. 'Why would you do such a thing?'

'I am the Headmistress of Hogwarts. My duty is to the children. They would not be safe here.'

'No less safe than anywhere else!' Nick sputtered, his voice ringing as he travelled through a suit of armour. 'Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have –'

Minerva stopped abruptly and made a quarter turn to face him. 'I have discussed this with the governors,' she said, her anger evident, 'and the decision has been made. Do _not_ tell me what Albus would have wanted. You do not have that right.' With that, she turned back and strode forward, Nick floating at the spot where she left him.

* * *

She reached the gargoyles. Bobbing between them, his legs crossed and his expression more serious than Minerva had ever seen, was Peeves. 'Get out of the way, Peeves,' she said coldly. 

'Is it true about Hogwarts?' he asked, his voice crackling.

Letting out a groan of frustration, she growled, 'If what you have heard is that Hogwarts will not be reopening to students, yes, it is true. Now leave. I'm not in the mood for your nonsense.'

She watched with suspicion as Peeves' bottom lip shook. His face took on a strange twinge as he bit his lip and let out a great, heaving, howling sob. 'Noooo!' he quivered in his high-pitched voice before grasping Minerva in a cold, tearful embrace.

Feeling as though the day couldn't possibly get any worse, she reached one hand up and patted him on the back, careful not to poke her hand through him too much. 'There, there,' she said faintly. He continued bawling, and she was beginning to get very cold from his touch. She shivered. 'Please, Peeves, stop.'

Peeves blew his nose on the collar of her robes; she rolled her eyes and backed away from him. 'That's quite enough.'

'You're heartless!' he accused, his face covered in tears. He flew through her and then up into the ceiling; she heard the sound of his unabated sobs above her as she spoke the password to the gargoyles and stepped onto the staircase.

The Headmistress' office, once covered in glittering trinkets, was comparatively barren now. Minerva hadn't made the time to completely transfer her belongings from her old office; even if she had, she knew it would not have been much better. Never again would it be as lively as when Albus had …

_Stop_, she scolded herself. _That's really quite enough_. Minerva's eyes were drawn to the paintings, where she was shocked to see every single old headmaster and headmistress at full attention, staring down at her. _Judging_, she felt, refusing to turn her head to the spot on the wall occupied by Albus' portrait.

'_Well_?' Phineas Nigellus said, his painted nostrils flared. 'How did it go, then? Are we getting the brats back or are we out of work?'

'Phineas, _please_,' Dilys Derwent said sharply. His eyes turned toward Dilys and he pouted, crossing his arms.

'I have an announcement to make,' Minerva said loudly, though it was unnecessary in a room where the only sound was of ears perking up. 'Hogwarts will _not_ be reopening for the coming school year.'

There was so much commotion from the portraits at the news that McGonagall had to cover her ears with her hands.

'How can this be!'

'_Why_?'

'I'm sure you tried your best –'

'You should have told them that –'

After a minute, the voices began to fade; once the room was down to a few bellowing old Headmasters, one voice permeated the others. 'Excuse me,' Albus said. The magical quality to his voice that made it nearly impossible to interrupt him was not quite present after his death, but the memory of it was still fresh enough to cause quiet. 'Perhaps it would be possible for me to speak with Minerva alone?' Minerva nearly shuddered, and still did not turn to him.

'And why on _earth_ should we allow that, Dumbledore?' Phineas Nigellus said, sneering. 'It's easy enough for _you_ to tell us to take off, but _some_ of us don't have portraits up in every wizarding building in Britain!'

'You can visit with one of the resident paintings or go home, Phineas,' Dumbledore replied, more of a command in his voice now than a request.

'You can't boss us around anymore, Dumbledore!' Phineas retorted. 'You're no better than the rest of us now!'

'For Ptolomy's sake, Phineas!' another Headmaster – _Reggard_, Minerva thought, though she wasn't sure – growled at Phineas. 'If anyone can fix this situation, it's Dumbledore! Let's leave him to it!' A loud mutter of agreement cycled through the other paintings, and Phineas, clearly realizing his defeat, gave Minerva one last glare before leaving. The others followed suit, minus the glare, until it was only Minerva and Albus himself. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him.

Albus, his eyes alight behind his spectacles, smiled pleasantly down at her. 'You needn't look as though you're a child here for discipline, Minerva,' he said jovially. 'Why don't you take one of those candies from the bowl on your desk? Candies always helped calm me.'

'I'm all right, thank you,' she replied, standing stock still. She didn't like those candies and he knew it.

'You never did like candies much.' Albus shook his head in mock dismay. 'One of many differences between us.'

Minerva's shoulders tightened even further. 'I still keep them around for the children,' she offered, the conversation feeling increasingly morbid. 'I mean, I _was _going to keep them for the children.'

Albus was dead. Hogwarts was dead.

'What do you think I would have done in your place?' Albus asked her with a shrewd look she knew all to well on his face.

'I don't see how that matters!' she replied sharply, not in the mood for games. She walked to the Headmistress' chair – _yes, the Head_mistress'_ chair, _she thought angrily – and flounced into it, looking away from Albus' portrait.

Even then, she could tell from the tone of his voice that he still thought he was saying something terribly clever. 'And why is that, might I ask?'

She turned back to him. 'Because I am Headmistress!' Her temper was roiling. It had not been a good day. Did she really need a dead friend, her best friend, telling her how disappointed he was in her? _But he had always said Hogwarts might close_, she reminded herself forcefully. _Why would he disapprove now?_

As these thoughts flew through her mind, Albus slowly smiled ear to ear. 'Wonderful!' he said, clapping his hands. 'That took a lot less time to get out of you than I had feared.'

She stared at him, confused. 'I don't understand your meaning.'

'_You_ are Headmistress now,' Albus pointed out to her, 'and unless _you_ ask me for advice, I ought to keep my thoughts on the matter to myself. All I am is a painted reflection of what I was. You will find that several of the other portraits tend to forget that about themselves. Perhaps I will also, in time.'

Minerva bit her lip. 'But Albus,' she said, her anger drained, staring down at her lap, 'I do _want_ you to approve, I had my reasons –'

'Minerva, Minerva.' She looked up to see him shaking his head. 'I cannot learn or grow. Why would you want the approval of someone who cannot do those things? All I can do is parrot back my old knowledge and beliefs. I can use them to think thoughts about current events, but I cannot ever be what I was. Perhaps that might be useful to a later Headmaster or Headmistress, but you knew me for decades! What could I possibly say that you don't already know I will say?'

'I …' Minerva was at a loss for words. She hadn't ever really thought of paintings like that, least of all Albus'.

'Without a soul,' he continued gravely, 'a man is a figment, a shadow. I cannot die, but nor can I live. It is from the living that you should seek approval, if from anyone at all.'

'You _would_ have approved,' Minerva said to him, feeling truly confident about it and wondering why on earth she had been worried.

'You would know,' Albus said, grinning. Then, his face sinking into a cringe, he added, 'But may I offer you one _minuscule_ piece of advice?'

Her eyebrows raised, Minerva asked, 'What is it?'

'You always liked chocolate. You should keep chocolates for the children instead of candies. Why on earth would you offer them something you yourself don't like?' Albus shook his head, looking more serious about the issue of the candies on her desk than about the closure of Hogwarts. Minerva's face broke into a smile.

'I will take that into consideration next year,' she said. Her day was finally picking up. Minerva turned away, grabbed a quill from her desk, and began setting ink to parchment. There was work to be done.


	6. The Letter in Blood

**A/N: **Hi all! Welcome to chapter six! I hope you've enjoyed the fic so far! Thanks go out to my beta reader, Clara Minutes, for her help. This chapter is the first of four that will encompass Harry's seventeenth birthday; suffice to say that I hope you have more fun reading it than Harry has living it. Praise and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!**_  
_**

**_Chapter Six: The Letter in Blood_**

Late that evening, with spell theory swimming in his head and his legs sore from disuse, Harry crawled into bed, determined that the next day he would move around in the backyard. He didn't think he could spend another moment with his nose in a book. _Quidditch_, he thought dreamily, _wonderful Quidditch_ … Hermione was terrible and would prefer to read, but maybe he and Ron and Ginny … just for a _short_ while …?

The sound of a not-too-distant explosion jerked Harry out of his thoughts. His eyes snapped open and his body automatically rose from bed as three more firework-like bangs crackled through the quiet night air.

Throwing his robe on over his boxers, Harry opened the door to his room and peeked out, bleary-eyed, into the hallway. Urgent footsteps were pounding nearby; Harry snapped his head around as Mr Weasley and Ron thundered forward, doing up the fastenings on their robes as they walked.

Mr Weasley saw Harry peeking out, and not breaking his stride, said, 'Stay inside, Harry.'

Harry blinked and the pair walked past. He moved to follow them, but didn't manage to take three full steps before Ron grabbed his shoulders and pressed him back. 'Stay _here_,' Ron insisted, his eyes giving the same command as they locked with Harry's. Harry was too surprised at Ron giving him an order to think up a protest before Ron released him and rushed to catch up with Mr Weasley.

He stood in place as Ron and Mr Weasley's footsteps banged down the stairs, looking fixedly in the direction in which they had descended. Harry could hear the front door collide with the wall as it was thrown open, followed by the shouting of unfamiliar voices and a few more explosions. _I'm going out there_, Harry decided, his hand closed tightly around his wand.

'Harry!'

He turned to see Hermione and Ginny, half-dressed themselves, heading toward him. 'What's going on out there?' Hermione asked.

'I don't know, but I'm going to find out,' he said darkly. 'You two stay here.'

Harry was almost at the stairs before Hermione grabbed him by the arm. He spun around. 'No, _you_ stay here! _I'm_ the one who can legally practice magic!' said Hermione in the same insistent tone and with the same pointed look Ron had used earlier. Hermione pushed past him and went down.

'This is ridiculous!' Harry grumbled.

'She's right,' Ginny stated matter-of-factly. Harry glowered at her. 'Don't give me that look,' she admonished. 'The two of us will just have to wait here.' She crossed her arms and glared back at him.

'It could be Death Eaters out there!' Harry argued, turning away from her and moving again to the stairs. Ginny grabbed him by the torso and pulled him back. She had a surprisingly strong grip, and Harry found his feet dragging across the carpet. 'Ginny!'

'You're being stupid!' she said through gritted teeth. Ginny was putting all her effort into stopping him from moving, and it was working.

Harry grabbed at her hands and tried to pry them off as he flung his body weight in the other direction. 'Ginny, let go!'

'No! You can't go out there!'

Harry was the stronger of the two and was making steady progress toward the stairs, but he realized that it would be hard to go down like this without tumbling and breaking both their necks. 'I can and I will!' he growled.

'What on earth!' They looked up to see a furious Mrs Weasley stomping toward them, glaring daggers at them both; their tug-of-war abruptly ended. 'Both of you get to your rooms this instant!'

'No way!' Harry protested. 'I have to go out there!'

'You most certainly do not!' Mrs Weasley said sternly as she herded them away from the stairs. 'Ginny, go upstairs. Harry, get back to bed.'

Harry was frustrated. How could they expect him to go back to bed when the Burrow was under attack? It was madness. 'Mrs Weasley,' Harry addressed, standing firmly and refusing to budge another inch. 'I _am_ going down there. I won't let Ron and Hermione fight Death Eaters or Dementors or Inferi or whatever it is without me!'

'Oh Harry, it's nothing like that, I promise you.' Mrs Weasley sniffed and went a little teary-eyed. 'Just get back to bed. There's nothing either of you can do to help. Let Arthur and Ron and Hermione and me take care of things.'

Harry looked at her dubiously. 'It's not anything to do with Voldemort?'

Mrs Weasley shuddered, and Harry felt slightly guilty for saying his name because Mrs Weasley seemed worked up even before _he_ was mentioned. 'No, thank Merlin, no.' She grasped her chest and closed her eyes. 'Please, just go.'

Harry was going to argue further, but Mrs Weasley was stricken enough, and if it had nothing to do with Voldemort, why add to their troubles with arguing? 'You're sure you can take care of it?'

He swore that he could _feel_ Ginny rolling her eyes behind him. 'Come on, Harry,' she sighed. 'Good luck, Mum.' Mrs Weasley bit her lip and nodded; then she turned away and descended again down those seemingly impassable stairs.

'How can I sleep?' Harry asked bitterly.

'Just go to your room,' Ginny replied shortly. 'We can't help. We're not even allowed to cast magic.'

'The Ministry couldn't press charges in a situation like this,' Harry said weakly, realizing even as he said it that all prior evidence contradicted him.

'I trust my family,' Ginny said, sounding annoyed and looking flustered. 'If you can't trust them, you shouldn't be here.'

Harry cringed. 'I'm sorry,' he replied lowly. 'You know I didn't mean it like that.'

'I know,' she whispered, 'but you need to tone down your saving-people issues for a couple more weeks. You know the Ministry would love to have something to hold over your head.'

'Yeah,' he agreed. There seemed nothing more to say, so Harry crossed to his room and entered it, flopping onto the bed in resignation. He listened for any sounds of conflict, but could only hear a few raised voices outside. _Sounds like the trouble's over_, he thought hopefully.

Indeed, just a few minutes later, Harry heard the front door slam shut and footsteps moving up the stairs. His door opened; Ron entered and shut it behind him. The lights went on, and Harry waited.

Ron sighed. 'Sorry about that, Harry. It really wasn't anything much.'

'What was it, then?' Harry asked curiously.

'Arseholes,' Ron responded, shrugging his shoulders. 'They did this before, the night before I met up with you and Hermione in France. It was just Dad and me dealing with it then.' A ferociously gleeful expression on his face, Ron added, 'I bet they didn't expect Aurors backing us up this time!'

Harry's eyes widened. 'It sounds serious!' he protested. 'I mean, if Aurors were called in …'

Ron rolled his eyes and smirked. 'They were around watching _you_, idiot. The Aurors were here when it started. They're from the Order. Tonks and Moody.'

'Oh,' Harry said, feeling out of the loop. 'So, uh, why were they here? The attackers, I mean.'

'Like I said, they're arseholes,' he muttered, moving to sit next to Harry on the bed. 'You know, 'Down with blood traitors!', 'You-Know-Who rules!', and stupid nonsense like that. Death Eater rejects. They'll be lucky not to get time in Azkaban, what with Scrimgeour so keen on making arrests.'

'I didn't realize Voldemort was picky enough to have rejects,' Harry quipped, thinking primarily of Wormtail. _But then, he had something to offer, didn't he?_

'They aren't _so_ bad,' amended Ron. 'They're hung up on blood status, yeah, but I don't think that lot are killers. They were just flinging some noisy junk from Fred and George's joke shop at the house. Don't even know if they're of age yet; some of them looked pretty young.'

'Death Eaters in training, then,' Harry frowned.

'Maybe not. Dad says they're just scared kids trying to feel like they're powerful when they're not, and maybe trying to score some points with the bad guys so they don't end up on the hit list next. Happened all the time during the last war, he says. Anyway,' Ron continued, 'the last thing they needed to see out there was you. It would only have gotten them excited and scared enough to get themselves in more trouble.'

'Okay, fine,' Harry acknowledged. 'I guess you were right to stop me from going out there…and so was Hermione, and then Ginny…' Harry went on ruefully.

'Determined much?' asked Ron, grinning.

Harry made a short, embarrassed laugh. 'Yeah, I get it; I made an arse of myself again.'

'Nah,' Ron replied, pushing Harry on the shoulder, 'you were just being you.'

'Thanks … I think.'

* * *

Hermione scanned the morning paper avidly for any news of the events of the previous night, but could turn up nothing. 'I guess it happened too late to be reported in the morning paper,' she explained to herself. 'We'll have to wait until the _Evening Prophet_.' 

Mr Weasley shook his head as he poured himself his third cup of coffee. 'I wouldn't hold your breath, Hermione. It turns out that one of those pranksters was the Minister's nephew. I doubt he'll want news about last night to get out.'

Harry was feeling sick to death of all the political manipulation. 'Great, just great. The real troublemakers get away with anything as long as they're well-connected, but innocent people like Stan Shunpike get time in Azkaban.' Harry scowled at his orange juice.

'He's only fourteen, Harry,' Mr Weasley explained. 'None of the lot was older than fifteen. I doubt it will happen again after their parents are through with them.'

'Arthur!' called Mrs Weasley from the hallway. 'Someone's at the door. Could you get it? I'm not decent!'

'Yes, dear!' Arthur shouted back. 'Poor Molly, hardly slept a wink last night …'

Mr Weasley came back into the kitchen a few moments later with a questioning look on his face. 'Er, Harry, there's someone here who claims to know you …?'

Mr Weasley then made way for one of the last people from Hogwarts that Harry ever expected – or wanted – to see again. 'Potter,' the young man boomed.

Resisting the urge to make a face, Harry replied, 'McLaggen.' What was Cormac McLaggen doing at the Burrow? He was certainly no friend of Harry's.

McLaggen sauntered into the kitchen, looking around with a sneer on his face that wouldn't have been out of place on Draco Malfoy. He then grabbed the empty chair next to Ron and dropped it down at the end of the table next to Harry.

'What're _you_ doing here?' Ron asked, looking McLaggen up and down in disbelief at his presence.

'_Potter_,' McLaggen repeated, emphasizing Harry's name to clearly indicate to Ron that he was _not_ talking to him, 'my little brother told me you were here. He said he was bawled out by some grouchy Aurors for hanging around here last night, and he's still in St Mungo's 'cause of some hex.'

'Yeah, well, tell your little brother that causing explosions outside the house of people not in Voldemort's good books isn't good for his health,' Harry countered. 'If that's all you came here for –'

'Don't be daft! I'm not here about _that_,' McLaggen replied. 'I'm here to join your team.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'My _team_? My team of what?'

McLaggen gripped Harry's shoulder as if they were old friends and shook him so hard that his teeth rattled. 'Your You-Know-Who fighting squad!' he said, a wide, stupid-looking grin on his face.

'My _what_?' Harry grabbed McLaggen's arm and forced it off his shoulder; then Harry shook his head. 'There's no such thing.'

'Yeah, right,' McLaggen snorted. 'I may not be part of your _select_ group of friends ...' He glanced around the table with a look bordering on contempt, then turned back to Harry enthusiastically. 'But I'm the best dueller you'll find, and I want in on the action!'

'Join the Aurors, then,' Hermione said, not bothering to look up from her breakfast.

'And waste years in training while Potter's getting all the glory?' McLaggen nearly shouted. 'No way!'

Harry gritted his teeth. Even if he _did_ have some elite anti-Voldemort fighting force – which he supposed he did, sort of, if Ron and Hermione counted – he wouldn't want McLaggen on it any more than he had wanted him as Keeper on the Quidditch team. 'I don't know what you've been told, McLaggen, but I'm not building up a private army.'

'Sure you're not. What about _them_, then?' He gestured around the table.

'They're called _friends_,' Harry replied coldly.

'Look, Potter, I'm wise to you. You don't have to put on an act for _me_.'

'Get lost,' Ron said shortly, glaring at McLaggen over Harry's shoulder. 'Seriously, it's my house, and I don't want you in it!'

'What's the matter, Weasley?' McLaggen asked mockingly. 'Feeling the heat of competition?'

'We already know who will win,' Ron growled, his eyes flashing with anger. 'Or do you not remember which of us was Keeper last year?'

McLaggen got up from his chair abruptly, his hands balled into fists, looking like he was ready for a fight. 'You want to try your luck?'

'Enough!' Harry ordered. 'Cut it out.' McLaggen sneered at him, and Harry was beginning to wonder if this might indeed come to blows when an idea popped into his head. 'All right, McLaggen,' Harry said, throwing up his hands. 'I'll give you what you want.'

'You will?' Ron choked, aghast.

Harry let out a mock sigh. 'It's not right for us not to include him.'

'But –'

Harry sent Ron a conspiratorial look, and Ron, though clearly not understanding where Harry was going, sent him back a trusting nod.

Harry turned back to McLaggen, who was looking down at Harry with smug satisfaction. 'Ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix?' Harry asked.

* * *

'I can't _believe_ you let him into the Order!' Ron protested. McLaggen had sauntered out several minutes before, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione had seated themselves in the living room to recover from his presence. 

Harry shrugged. 'The Order needs all the help it can get, and he has connections in the Ministry that might be useful. Besides, the final decision is up to Remus, and McLaggen can always be Obliviated if he's too much trouble.'

'What if he's spying for Voldemort?' Hermione asked anxiously.

'He's too stupid,' said Ron.

'I'm on Ron's side on this one,' agreed Harry, laughing.

'But he could be under Imperius, or –'

'No one could _pretend_ to be as annoying as McLaggen,' Ron replied, sounding disgusted. 'It's absolutely impossible. Well, maybe Malfoy on his _worst_ day …'

'McLaggen's an arse, Hermione, but he might be a useful arse. We may as well put up with him in the Order; we won't have to see him often. Remus will keep him busy. He can't be any worse than Mundungus.'

'True enough,' Ron acknowledged. 'Dumbledore wasn't overly picky about who he let in, was he?'

'Exactly,' replied Harry as another knock sounded at the door.

'I'll get it,' Ron growled as he pushed himself out of his chair, 'though it better not be bloody McLaggen again …'

Ron returned shortly after with a thrilled grin on his face which was mirrored on Harry's own once he saw who their visitor was. 'Kingsley!' Harry greeted him. This was a _much_ better surprise than McLaggen had been.

'Harry,' Kingsley said, smiling. 'I have what you wanted.'

'Great!' Harry pressed himself to the edge of his seat, his eyes fixed on Kingsley. _Now we'll finally get somewhere with the Horcruxes!_

Kinsley reached into his pocket and drew out a tiny cube of parchment the width of his thumb. Harry frowned, confused, until Kingsley tapped it with his wand and it became full-sized, growing so high that Kingsley's face was obscured by it. 'It's just a copy, so don't worry about returning it. Everything you need should be in here,' he said in his rich baritone.

'Thanks a lot!' Hermione said, smiling as she moved to take the pile of papers off Kingsley's hands.

'I'm glad to have been of assistance. I'm on a tight schedule, but if you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask.'

'We won't. Thanks,' replied Harry, echoing Hermione's sentiment. Kingsley nodded and left.

'This is great!' Hermione said happily. 'Now all we've got to do is single out information about any R.A.B.s.'

'Yeah,' said Harry softly, 'but let's do it upstairs, okay? I don't want anyone walking in on us.' The last thing he needed was for Ginny to get any more clues about what he, Hermione and Ron were up to.

Hermione blanched. 'Yes, of course,' she whispered. 'Sorry, I was just so excited.'

'No problem,' Harry whispered back with a grin on his face. 'I am, too.'

They went upstairs, shut the door, spelled it to repel Extendable Ears and other eavesdropping charms, and spent the rest of the morning taking down the names of any R.A.B.s who were living or killed by Voldemort or his Death Eaters. As it turned out, middle names were rarely listed, so it mostly came down to R.B.s.

'Roxanne Baddock, Rowan Bagman, Rue Bagnold …' Hermione ticked off the names as she added them to their fresh list of people worth investigating. '… Reynard Belcher, Roderick Bletchley, Renata Branstone …'

'How are we going to figure out which one is the real R.A.B., anyway?' Ron asked, his face scrunched in concentration.

'We're probably better off starting with the ones who are deceased,' Hermione said, her eyes focused on the list she was making. 'There are only two R.B.s suspected of having been killed by Death Eaters, and they fit the profile best, seeing as they're dead.'

'Which ones are those?' asked Ron.

'Raphasia Barkwith and Rick Bundy,' replied Hermione.

'I say we try Rick first. I really do think it's a bloke.'

Hermione glared. 'And why is that?'

'It just … seems like a man would have written it. There's nothing girly about it,' Ron replied, shrugging his shoulders.

'Why does everything a girl writes necessarily have to be girly?' Hermione protested. 'It's not as though it's a love letter!'

Harry decided to break in before a full-fledged argument started. 'We can do men and women at once. There are three of us.'

Ron and Hermione both gave him a skewed look. 'What?' Harry wondered.

Hermione's face screwed up into a pained look. 'It's just that most of the investigating will have to take place outside the Burrow, Harry, and you can't cast magic yet. There's no way Ron and I can bring you along.'

'The Order would go nuts,' Ron added. 'Sorry, mate, but you'll have to stay here.'

'That's not fair!' argued Harry. 'If anything awful happens, I could –'

'You'll use magic and get yourself in trouble,' Hermione finished.

'The Ministry can't afford to put me in Azkaban. They think they need me as a symbol of … something or other.'

'But why put yourself in a situation where you might be forced to break rules? Ron and I can handle this on our own. All we're going to do is track down their graves or their relatives and try to squeeze out their middle names, and maybe some information if they happen to fit our profile.'

'I know where the Barkwiths live,' Ron piped up, grinning at Hermione. 'That's one down.'

'So what am I supposed to do?' Harry demanded.

Ron cringed in sympathy. 'Sorry, Harry. I really am. But I don't see anything else for you to do right now.'

'You can study more of those books that Remus brought,' Hermione said encouragingly, patting him on the shoulder. 'That will keep you busy.'

Harry let out a growling breath in frustration. 'Fine, whatever.' He couldn't stand to look at either of them. Sincerely, he added, 'Be careful.' Harry didn't like having his friends do all the dirty work while he did nothing of value; as far as he was concerned, his birthday couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

Eleven failed days later, Hermione reluctantly scratched the last name off their list. 'We've hit a dead end,' she sighed. 'None of these people fit.' 

'Twenty-three people with the initials R.B. and not one of them has a middle name starting with 'A',' grumbled Ron, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and glaring at the floor as if it were conspiring against them.

'There was Rue _Annabelle_ Bagnold,' Hermione reminded him.

Ron gritted his teeth. 'She's _twelve_.'

'And I'm the only one who makes Voldemort's mortal enemies list that young,' Harry joked. Then, returning to the seriousness the situation warranted, he said, 'So we're back at square one.'

Ron strode to the other end of the room. 'It _must_ be a ruddy nickname!'

'Or maybe the wizard or witch in question isn't English,' Hermione said sadly. 'Either way, yes, we're back at square one.'

'This is so frustrating!' barked Ron. 'Hermione and I have talked to so many people and it's all been pointless.'

'That's not true,' Harry said. 'You and Hermione have been really helpful. Even if none of those people turned out to be the R.A.B. we're looking for, at least we know who he's _not_. That's something.'

'You just said we're back at square one,' Ron muttered. 'No need to spare our feelings, Harry.'

'I was being hasty,' Harry assured him. 'We're all frustrated, but we'll work it out eventually.'

On a normal day, Harry would have been just as angry as Ron was, but he couldn't manage it when there were only thirteen hours and forty minutes to go before he finally came of age. Only thirteen hours and forty minutes until he could cast magic, until he could _do_ something to battle Voldemort instead of sitting around being useless while his friends did all the legwork. He was so close he could taste the freedom. Harry's left hand felt around in his pocket until it grasped the fake locket; he didn't carry it with him always, but he usually kept it in the pocket of these robes.

'Mrs Weasley is getting suspicious,' voiced Hermione. 'She knows we're up to something.'

'Don't worry, she thinks you and Ron are dating,' Harry said, grinning from ear to ear. Mrs Weasley seemed quite happy about the prospect, too, from the way she hummed to herself every time she saw them leave together, but Harry wasn't about to share that little tidbit; Hermione and Ron looked embarrassed enough as it was.

'What?' Ron said, his mouth hanging open. He and Hermione competed for who could turn the deepest shade of red.

'She doesn't _really_ think … ? What does she think we've been _doing _while we were out for several hours a day' Hermione cried, her face expressing her alarm.

'She thinks we've been at Grimmauld Place, remember?' Ron said. 'That's where we told her we were going whenever we went out. Tonks told her that the Order had some protection spells for the house that we could help out with ... though I guess that was a pretty weak excuse to use for so long,' he added, seeming to realize where his mother's misconception about his and Hermione's activities had come from. 'Mum would be livid if she knew we've been Apparating around England … well, that _Hermione_ has been Apparating us around England, anyway.' He rubbed his neck as though his sensitivity about not being able to Apparate was a physical itch.

'And Tonks covered for us –'

'She thinks you're going out, too.' Harry explained. 'I told her you were going to Hogsmeade. She figured you were both safe enough there.'

'We would be,' Ron nodded. 'Dad says Hogsmeade is crawling with MLE people, even Aurors. The shops are still dead, though. Who would go there?'

'It's not as if we were in any more than the usual amount of danger,' Hermione reminded them. 'We didn't go out after dark.'

'Mum would have _murdered_ us if we weren't back by five.'

'And – ' Hermione's mouth clamped shut as they heard a soft knock on the door; she scrunched their useless list of names up into a ball and threw it into a corner. Harry frowned; that wasn't Ginny's knock, or Mrs Weasley's. He had come to know their ways of knocking all too well over the past several weeks.

'Come in,' Hermione called. Then, as the door opened, she cried, 'Neville!'

'Hey,' Neville greeted, grinning bashfully as he walked in. 'I figured you would be here, Harry. It's my birthday!'

'Awesome! You hit the big one-seven, eh, Neville?' Ron said, elbowing him good-naturedly.

'Yup,' Neville said proudly. Guilt pinched Harry; he had completely forgotten about Neville's birthday. How could he when it was only one day before his own? Harry was reminded, sadly, that Neville didn't have any very close friends; it was likely that no one had thought to get him a present but his relatives.

'Harry's turning seventeen tomorrow,' Hermione informed Neville.

'Yeah, I know,' Neville replied. 'The _Daily Prophet_ has a countdown on the front page.'

'Er, right,' Harry muttered, feeling uncomfortable.

'I thought I'd spend the day here with you guys,' Neville said, looking hopeful as he sat awkwardly down on the bed next to Hermione. 'I know I wasn't invited or anything, but …'

Harry could only imagine what else Neville had to look forward to. His grandmother's gushing, for one. 'Sure,' Harry replied, smiling widely to indicate to Neville that he was perfectly welcome. It meant that he, Hermione and Ron wouldn't be able to get any work done, but it was only for one day, and they didn't have any leads to follow.

'Of course, Neville!' Hermione agreed, smiling. 'We should all go to Hogsmeade …' Then she looked at Harry meaningfully, biting her lip, and amended, 'or maybe we could just stay here.'

'I understand,' Neville assured her. 'It's better here than … well, you know.' Harry looked at Neville's hand and thought he saw the corner of a silver piece of paper peeking out from his fist. He drew a hissing breath in sympathy, realizing where Neville must have spent his morning.

* * *

It ended up being the most pleasant day of Harry's summer thus far. Free of worries for once and devoted to Neville's pleasure, they spent much of their time outdoors for the first time in ages. Neville pointed out several interesting herbs in Ron's garden and managed to make an odd paste that turned everyone's hair purple when it touched their skin. The gnomes in the Weasley's garden found it delicious, and the four of them (even Hermione) laughed as the gnomes ate it and their entire bodies shifted colours to purple, to green, to orange, and to all the other colours of the rainbow. The gnomes were having fun as well (which, Harry supposed, was why Hermione wasn't bothered), and were tricking each other into eating it; soon the garden was full of several dozen gnomes of all colours running after each other. They came up with a good game of tag in which they caught gnomes of a particular colour, and Harry was thrilled just to be running around instead of reading quietly. 

Mrs Weasley managed to put Neville's grandmother off his trail when she arrived to fetch him for dinner (she, too, felt sympathy for Neville's home situation) so he stayed long into the night. Mr Weasley got off work early and brought a few cases of Butterbeer with him, and the twins arrived with all sorts of chocolate and candy and fireworks that they set off inside the house; even Mrs Weasley didn't chastise them _too_ much. Eventually it got so late that Neville ended up calling his grandmother through the fireplace to tell her that he was staying overnight to celebrate Harry's birthday, too. She was livid with him for having missed her plans for his birthday, but he held his own with unusual aplomb, and she agreed easily enough to him staying for Harry's sake, as she considered Harry to be all that was good and right in the world, or so Neville said with a good-humoured smile.

It was turning into a party, though Harry regretted a little that it was mostly for his own sake and not for Neville's that most of the Weasley family was popping in out of the blue. Bill and Fleur came over for the first time since their wedding; both looked happy and healthy, and were unable to stay away from each other even after being married for weeks. Charlie made it as well, bearing a gift that he set aside 'for after midnight' with a wink. Then, shortly after eleven, Remus arrived with Tonks on his arm, the two of them also setting aside presents. The living room was crowded with people, food, and the sound of laughter by the time the clock struck eleven fifty-nine.

'Here it comes!' George cried, grinning. When it came down to the last five seconds, the room began to chant.

'Five! ... Four! … Three! … Two!...'

'…One!' Harry shouted along with them.

'Zero!' The room cheered. Fred and George set off their most impressive fireworks yet, causing happy chaos. Hermione and Ron tackled Harry with hugs, and Harry's sides hurt from laughter. He didn't think his grin could get any wider. It was the best birthday ever. He managed to reach his wand and cried, 'Lumos!' and did smile a _little_ wider when his wand tip burst with light.

Then the window at the end of the room shattered; bizarrely, the shards of glass fired outward, harming no one. There were a few shrieks of surprise at first, but mostly everyone figured it was one of Fred and George's stunts. Harry looked at them, as did everyone else gradually, but their faces betrayed their dismay.

The chatter and laughter died in moments. Harry noticed an object sitting innocuously on the table in front of him that had not been there before; it was impossible for it to have gotten there from the window without magic. On closer inspection it appeared to be nothing more than a slim chunk of rock about the size of Harry's hand.

Harry reached for it. 'Harry, no,' Remus warned, but Harry's fingertips were already closing around it. It was mildly warm to the touch, and felt utterly ordinary as he picked it up. All eyes were on him. He flipped it over.

_Harry_. The word was written on a folded piece of parchment in red ink that Harry had a sickening feeling wasn't ink at all. The writing was shaky, as if it had been written on a rough surface, but the flow of the strokes made a cold shiver run through him; Harry knew this handwriting. He recalled it clear as crystal from Riddle's diary, years ago.

Still holding the rock, Harry reached with his other hand to pull off the note. Each fold in the parchment immediately faded away as Harry unfolded it, leaving it looking as though it had never been folded there at all; Harry was struck with the near-humorous impression that someone was showing off. About halfway through he realized that there were two pieces, and wondered what on earth Voldemort had to say to him that would take two average-sized pieces of parchment to say. Hermione was gripping Harry's arm so tightly it hurt, and the tension in the room was itself a painful dip in the atmosphere after so many happy hours, but Harry ignored it and unfolded the last crease. He stared at the words written upon it, Hermione and Ron crowded around him close enough to see. He frowned in confusion at the short message: _Let's play_.

That was all that was written. 'What's that supposed to mean?' Ron asked, his voice shaking. The two words, like Harry's name, were written in red ink, probably blood. Harry heard someone in the room ask what it said, but he ignored the question. He set the first piece of parchment down onto the coffee table, from which it was snatched up by someone else. Then, before any further comment was made on the first page, Harry turned his attention to the second. As Harry focused on each word, his grip on the parchment tightened, and Hermione's eyes went wide with horror.


	7. The Rotting Man

**A/N: **As the author, this is my favorite chapter so far, and I hope my readers feel the same way :) Thanks again to my beta reader, Clara Minutes. Please read, enjoy, and review!**_  
_**

**_Chapter Seven: The Rotting Man_**

It was three minutes before nine o'clock in the morning at the Ministry of Magic. Like on any weekday at such a time, the fireplaces in the left wall of the Atrium were running at full capacity as Ministry wizards and witches hurried to get to work on time. A dozen pairs of high heels, shoes, and the occasional set of bunny-eared slippers could be heard hustling to the golden gates at any moment. There they queued up, biting lips, shuffling feet, and looking at watches with trepidation, hoping to reach the front of the line before the clock struck nine.

One particular man—if he could be called a man—stepped out of the third gilded fireplace from the front. He walked away from the gates to the back of the line with no haste in his stride. He was an oddity, dressed all in black as he was; with black gloves covering his hands to above his wrists and the hood of his cloak thrown over his lowered head, not a sliver of skin could be seen. He garnered curious looks from the wizards and witches around him at first, but there was only so long that a slight, stationary figure could hold anyone's interest while they were all concerned with peeking over each other's heads to gauge how long they had to wait.

The line had barely budged three steps before a shrieking bell sounded, indicating the beginning of the work day. 'Mr Weasley said he would have to add a reprimand to my record if I was late again!' one young man said, groaning in dismay. The black-clad man's head shifted slightly as he listened, but aside from this he did nothing more than move one foot ahead of the other as the line slowly progressed.

It was fifteen past the hour by the time the man's turn came. He had watched Ministry employees being jostled by the sizeable security team at the gates, so when a young, slit-eyed man, wand in hand, called out to him roughly, the man showed no surprise at being treated in such a manner. Without hesitation, he took several unhurried steps forward.

'State your name and your business at the Ministry,' the young man said. Leering, he added, 'I don't recall seeing you around here before. If you're a visitor, you'll have to go through the full search and identification procedure over there.' He pointed his thumb to the side of the room.

'I am Elphias Doge with the Committee on Experimental Charms, Mr Savage,' the black-clad man said smoothly. He was still hunched over, his face not within view.

'Wand,' Savage said gruffly. He held out his hand impatiently as the older man slowly put his own gloved hand into his right pocket, closed his fingers around the wand there, brought it out, and handed it over. Savage took the wand and put it on the scales sitting on the small table beside him.

'Nine and three quarters inches, unicorn tail hair core, in use for seventy-six years,' Savage read off coldly. He took the piece of paper and handed it to a middle-aged man standing in wait; that man took off quickly for the side of the room, where there were floating rows and columns of papers and files.

'So when is this meeting you're going to, Doge?' Savage asked as he handed the older man his wand back, his left eye especially narrowed with apparent suspicion.

'Ten forty-five,' the black-clad man replied.

'So why are you showing up so early?' he demanded.

'The committee's secretary wants me to look over some abstracts on the charms we will be reviewing.'

'And why …' Savage leaned over to get a good look at the man's face, but no matter how close he got it was still obscured. '… Why are you hiding your face?'

The black-clad man let out a wispy laugh. 'I was toying with a gardening charm to make moonflowers bloom in the day and ended up making myself as sensitive to sunlight as a vampire! I was outdoors at the time and I burned myself quite badly, but the healers at St Mungo's say it will heal itself over the next few days.' He reached with his left hand to pull down the glove on his right until his wrist was visible, revealing a mottled, badly burned patch of skin that caused Savage to make a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. A smell was released as soon as the glove was pulled down, the stench of a corpse left to rot in the sun for a week; Savage swallowed a mouthful of vomit.

'It's best for people not to see what my face looks like!' the black-clad man concluded, his voice playful. He pulled his glove back over his skin.

'Yes, I quite agree,' Savage said, the words tumbling from his mouth. His composure was gone. 'Er, do you have that wand identified yet, Brooks?' he called shakily over to the middle-aged man who had taken the wand's identification stub.

'Just a moment … yes, it checks out,' Brooks called back, his voice muffled by the papers swirling around his head. 'Elphias Doge … Experimental Charms Committee … appointment at ten forty-five on the fourth floor.'

'You may go on, sir,' Savage said, taking several quick steps back.

'Thank you.' The black-clad man tugged on the top of his hood by way of salute and walked away, as unhurried as ever.

* * *

Bernie Wimple, a man who hated both his first and his last name, sat in his corner office on the fifth floor of the Ministry of Magic, the headquarters of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, sipping his second cup of coffee. Situated behind his large and strategically messy desk, he looked over his schedule for the day: a meeting through the fireplace with one of his Danish counterparts was featured that morning, and he made a special note to take in a third cup of coffee before that, because no one could bore him stiff quite like Rosencrans. 

Bernie Wimple was holder of one of the British seats in the International Confederation of Wizards. It had been a dream job for years with its high pay and low work until around the time of the Ireland versus Bulgaria match at the Quidditch World Cup. Ever since the disaster after the match, his job had consisted of putting out one public relations fire after another. Organizing the Triwizard Tournament had been a nightmare, as had justifying the death that occurred in it to the international media. He thanked his lucky stars to that day that the dead competitor had been from Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons or Durmstrang; it had been bad enough explaining to the Bulgarians that yes, their country's greatest Seeker had indeed been put under the Imperius Curse under Dumbledore's nose, and yes, we're awfully sorry. And damn that Beauxbatons girl for being related to the French Minister for Magic! It had taken a month to convince him not to organize a boycott of British products, and Fudge had been as utterly useless as always.

Then had come the year of questions, of Albus Dumbledore coming down with diarrhoea of the mouth about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning (did Dumbledore _realize_ how long it had taken Bernie to assure everyone from Iceland to India that Dumbledore was delusional?). Then the breakout of those kooks from Azkaban had made the prison that had been the pride of the wizarding world for decades look like a laughingstock, coming so soon after the escape of Sirius Black; the jokes and sneers Bernie had endured at the conference in New York! Then Voldemort had returned and Bernie had only managed to save his own job and hide by acting even more furious with Fudge than he was, assuring all the diplomats he had inadvertently lied to that he had been fooled himself and was determined to get revenge for it. Scrimgeour had let Bernie keep his position after Bernie made a fervent and masterful recantation of every kiss he had ever bestowed upon Fudge's arse, laying all those kisses back on Scrimgeour's arse and more.

But Bernie was beginning to wonder if this job was worth the bother. His colleagues from other countries in the International Confederation of Wizards came to him with all sorts of concerns; they had been particularly antsy since Dumbledore's murder. Bernie was closer to Scrimgeour than he had ever been to Fudge, and ended up inadvertently knowing details that the other British members didn't, so he had become the man to go to for juicy information. It seemed to Bernie as though he spent half his life gossiping about the continuing war on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and really, he would much rather settle down with a crossword all morning like he had in the good old days. There was also the _other_ unwelcome attention he had received, but he didn't even like to think about that, and certainly not until after at least half a pack of cigarettes; anyway, Vaisey had probably been utterly drunk when he had asked …

The door to Bernie's office opened a few inches, and he looked up from his schedule to see the face of his attractive secretary, whose fine-shaped lips painted meticulously with passion pink lipstick reminded him that his job wasn't really _so_ bad. 'Ambassador Wimple, sir?' she said, her face squeezed between the door frame and the edge of the door. 'There's someone here to see you. He isn't on the schedule.'

'Then tell him to make an appointment,' Bernie grumbled, already turning back to his schedule while surreptitiously reading Quidditch stats from the newspaper underneath it.

'He insists that you said you wanted to see him. He says he doesn't _do_ appointments, sir.'

'Unless he's the Keeper for the Wimbourne Wasps, I'm not interested. If he is, I want an autograph.'

Mindy, the secretary, let out a high-pitched giggle. With most women he would think it was false, but Mindy, bless her, was sweetly stupid. 'Yes, sir.' She shut the door behind her.

Not a minute later, Mindy returned. 'Sir, he says his name is Mr Riddle. He claims Mr Vaisey told him to—'

Bernie spewed a mouthful of coffee onto his desk before she even finished the sentence. 'Sir!' Mindy cried. She started to walk over, but Bernie waved her away frantically. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, brought his hand to his mouth, and chewed his nails, looking at his blinking secretary with the eyes of a deer caught in headlights. 'He claims Mr Vaisey told him to come see you, sir,' she finished, continuing to blink at him with vacant eyes.

'Uh … uh … s-send him in, I suppose,' Bernie said, his voice shaking along with the rest of him. _Riddle? What sort of name is that? Some sort of code? Surely Vaisey didn't really … I'm sure it's not actually _Him Indeed, the entire idea was so absurd that Bernie let out a short laugh at his own silliness. _It's probably someone from the Gobstones Club wanting to collect dues!_

Bernie was trying to soak some of the spit-out coffee up off his desk with his shirt when the so-called Mr Riddle walked in. Bernie slammed his slightly overweight bottom down into his chair as he watched the visitor, covered in black from head to toe.

Riddle, as the man called himself, sat down elegantly in the chair in front of Bernie's desk, making not a sound save for the rustle of cloth as he arranged his robes around himself. 'Wimple, isn't it?' Riddle said in a cold voice. 'You may recall one of my associates having a word with you last week. You told him you refused to deal with anyone other than me directly …' At this, Riddle let out a short, humourless laugh. '… So here I am.'

There was something about the man … his voice, his gloved hands, the sneer Bernie could feel in his bones … that left Bernie in no doubt that Riddle was who he was claiming to be. _I wasn't serious!_ Bernie wanted to protest, but his jaw wouldn't do anything other than bob up and down. _I mean, really, I never meant for … for Him … to turn up in my office!_ He had thought Vaisey was joking, drunk … _something_. He'd never pegged him as being of that sort of crowd; after all, Vaisey was treasurer of Bernie's Gobstones Club! If you couldn't trust your Gobstones Club, who could you trust? There was still a part of Bernie that was hoping desperately that this was an impostor, but his hopes were fading fast, particularly as he caught a glint of glittering red eyes under the man's hood. The rest of his face was shrouded, and Bernie was grateful because he didn't think his heart could stand knowing what was under there.

'As I'm sure was explained to you thoroughly, I have some particular requests to make of you. You have the ear of some very influential people these days, I am told.'

'I-I … yes, I suppose …'

'I want your influence to be my influence. For the moment, you will only ensure that what the rest of the world hears about my … quarrel with the Ministry makes it clear that I am winning. And I _am_ winning.'

'I … I …'

Riddle reached in to his pocket, and Bernie was sure that he was going to be killed, but then Riddle withdrew his hand holding something too small to be a wand. 'Two daughters, isn't it? And one adorable little granddaughter. How old is she? Eleven, twelve months?' Riddle opened his fist to reveal a tiny rubber teething ring; he rolled it between his fingers. It looked just like the one Bernie had given to his granddaughter a few days before, and a whimper escaped his lips.

'I will ask more of you later. You will be of use to me when I take over the Ministry. It would be bothersome to have to replace _everyone_, after all.'

Bernie couldn't speak; he bit his lip to keep it from shaking. 'I'm certainly glad we had the chance to chat,' Riddle said, his sarcasm ringing clear. He stood up and placed the teething ring down in a puddle of coffee on the desk. 'Next time, you will speak with Vaisey.'

Bernie nodded emphatically. Riddle walked out.

* * *

'Your master will be very pleased,' the auburn-haired young man assured him cheerily, holding a small, square, silver snuff box in the palm of his hand. He spoke quickly and emphatically, like the ringmaster at a circus. 'This is the primo stuff, no substitutions, all the way from Nepal.' 

The black-clad man was seated in a rickety wooden chair in the fifth-floor office of a man working for the International Magical Trading Standards Body. The room couldn't be more different from the one he had left minutes before; it was the size of a large broom cupboard, with stacks of paper and boxes of goods—some legal, most less so—obscuring every inch of dingy wall from view. The man holding the snuff box, who went by the name of Rex in black-market circles, was looking at him with eager, greedy eyes.

'Now, as for payment, you have to understand the trouble I went to for you people … I mean, there are Class A Non-Tradeable Goods—dragon eggs, Chimaera eggs, and what have you, can be got from any two-bit crook—but _this_ stuff,' he said, shaking the snuff box as he waved his arms dramatically, 'this stuff is so non-tradeable it's not even funny.'

'We have waited four months.' The black-clad man tapped his wand rhythmically against his knee.

Rex made the pained expression of a man remembering an unpleasant event. 'Eh, yeah, well, my original shipment …'

'Give it to me. You'll be paid.'

'Uh, yeah, sure … Don't open it, though …' Rex handed over the snuff box. 'Seriously, that shit is not to be messed with.'

'Ignorant fool,' the black-clad man hissed, wasting no time in flipping open the small silver box with his thumb. Rex's eyes went wide with terror, and the black-clad man laughed at his reaction. 'If it could do harm on its own it wouldn't be considered a magical weapon, now would it?' he sneered. 'A common misconception. No, it is perfectly _harmless_ until it is exposed to magic. A Muggle could _eat _it and would experience nothing more than minor indigestion.

'But if exposed to even the slightest sliver of magic,' he whispered, his eyes glittering beneath his hood as he gazed at the black powder, 'it will produce an explosive force impossible to block with any of the commonly-known Shield Charm variants. The detonation occurs so rapidly that even the handful of living wizards who might know how to block it would be blown to chunks before they could raise their wands … such a clever weapon …'

'T-that's pretty much it,' Rex said, wiping a layer of sweat off his brow and looking more than slightly disconcerted at the black-clad man's enthusiasm. 'W-well, I … I think I ought to be paid now.'

'Yes,' the black-clad man agreed. He shut the lid of the snuff box with a click and sealed it with a silent locking charm, then dropped it into one of the inner pockets of his robes. 'I suppose we have reached that juncture in our relationship.' He pulled out his wand and, without ceremony, said, '_Avada Kedavra._'

Rex's corpse was thrown back into a chair and spilled halfway over the side inelegantly. The black-clad man looked down at his wand, then at the body, clearly displeased. '… terrible angle … I do hope I'm not losing my touch …' He moved his wrist from side to side before he found the spot he was looking for. 'Yes, that's where I should have aimed. For shame …'

He slipped his wand back into his pocket and walked to the elevator.

* * *

She could sense the exact impact of each action she took, magnified and in slow motion: the echo of every footstep would rustle the robes of the man across the room; the moisture in every breath puffed out like a tiny cloud and then dissipated into minuscule silver glimmers; a cough was near-deafening. There was no light, yet everything could be seen through a dim blue haze. It was always like that in the room when the machine was turned on and working properly, and the effect was only magnified by the excited tingling running across her skin. 'Is the red light on? You can kick it if it isn't,' Clara called out. 

Strangely, the louder one spoke, the softer the words came out in this unusual world they had made. She had forgotten that in her excitement, and so she had to repeat the same query in a whisper to make it carry across the room.

'It's all right,' Morris whispered back. The words tickled her ears like butterfly wings. 'I'm going to shut it down.'

All the brightness of the average workroom on the fourth floor of the Ministry of Magic returned, and Clara's sigh was as uninteresting as ever. It always felt like a loss when the machine was turned off at first, but she knew her senses would come to accept the disappointment in a minute or two. 'That trial went well,' she said, her voice plain and monotone; it was hard to feel alive.

'Yes,' Morris replied, just as mechanically. 'It went better than the one the Unspeakables did last night. I kept trying to tell them your tip about kicking it, but you know how they get …'

'Hmm.' She sighed again. 'They would have to analyse the force of the kick, the exact location of impact …'

'Boring lot.' Morris was coming back to life. Clara was feeling better, too.

'At least they're letting us show the committee,' she said. She ran her hands through her hair, just to _feel_. 'Though technically it's not a charm, exactly,'

Morris shook his head. 'It is so, Clara. How many times do I have to tell you? The machine is just a magnifier. Once we get the incantation right, we won't need it. We'll manage it with our wands.'

A smile spread across Clara's face. 'Won't that be exciting?'

'The Aurors will piss themselves. I wish the Unspeakables would let us tell them.'

'They're Unspeakables, what do you expect? They don't speak … about anything.'

Morris put his hand on the machine to test the heat emanating off of it; it was already cool enough to touch, which was much better than the old days months ago when they had needed to wait for it to cool for hours. It was less of a machine and more of a mish-mash of charms and odd magical devices stuck together with luck and chewing gum, but Morris and Clara both had Muggle ancestry, so calling it a machine was a sort of private homage between them to their heritage.

'Weirdos, that's what those Unspeakables are. When is the Committee supposed to show again?'

'Ten forty-five,' Clara recited dutifully.

'We have nearly an hour to wait,' Morris grumbled.

They both turned abruptly at the sound of someone rustling the doorknob; Clara pointed her wand at it and unlocked it. Pig opened the door; he was a talentless, fat political appointee who ran their office, the Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and who was always sweating no matter what the temperature was. Clara honestly couldn't recall his name; she called him sir to his face and Pig to anyone else.

'Yes, sir?' Clara called neutrally.

'Some fellow named Elphias Doge is here to see you. Says he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms,' Pig oinked.

'Please send him in, sir,' she replied.

'Hmph, as if I'm your secretary …' he mumbled, toddling off.

'You said the Committee wasn't going to be here for an hour!' Morris whispered frantically.

'That's what's on the schedule!' Clara replied. They shot whispers back and forth until footsteps approached close to the door; then they both turned to face it, standing stock still.

The man who entered wasn't at all what either Clara or Morris had expected; he was, to be truthful, downright creepy; even creepier than the creepiest Unspeakable. He was hunched over, his head shrouded by the hood of his black cloak, his face impossible to see. Clara had never met Elphias Doge, but she and Morris had enquired after what the committee members were like, and the words 'deeply disturbing' had never come up in relation to any of them.

'You must be Lara and Morris,' the black-clad man said, moving further into the room to approach them.

'Clara,' Clara corrected.

'My apologies.'

There was something unnatural about the timbre of his voice.

'Won't you sit down?' Morris asked, gesturing to the only chair in the room. They were lucky they even had one; their meagre funding rarely went to such items.

'Thank you, but I will stand.' The man straightened up his posture, which only made their perception of him switch from disturbing to frightening. Clara and Morris still couldn't see his face, and Clara was wondering whether he had some sort of charm on that obscured it. _But why would he do that?_

'You're … here to see the machine?' Morris asked. Clara had half-expected Morris to complain that the man was early, but there was something about this man that made treating him with anything less than the utmost respect feel dangerous.

'Machine?' he asked, sardonic amusement carrying in his voice.

'The device that creates the charm effect,' Clara clarified, elbowing Morris for his slip. 'But perhaps you would rather wait until the other members of the Committee are present?'

'No,' he said dismissively. 'No, I don't intend to wait for them. That is it, is it not?' He moved his head around to look directly at the machine.

'Yes,' Morris said, perking up. He walked hastily over to the device and started to explain what each dial, light, and gizmo was for, but he trailed off after only a few moments. The man was making it very clear that he was uninterested by pointing his wand directly at Morris. Morris edged away from the machine slowly; the wand followed him until he had rejoined Clara.

'What … what do you want?' Clara asked, now solidly frightened.

The wand was lowered, and a façade of sorts seemed to slide off the man like an unwanted second skin. 'Tell me,' he said, his voice disturbingly merry, 'how did you happen upon the research notes? I'm genuinely curious.'

Clara and Morris' jaws dropped in unison. It was their dirty little secret; they had never told anyone. 'How did you …'

'I should warn you that boring me is bad for your health.'

Clara's jaw snapped shut and quivered. After biting her lip for several moments, she let it all out in a single breath. 'We were assigned to clear out the old files together … all the files twenty years or older. It was …' She laughed nervously. '… The notes were on pink parchment. I didn't even know there was pink parchment. They caught our attention.'

'… And you thought to make them your own. I suppose you thought it was very clever, stealing someone else's work.'

Clara gulped. Was that what this was all about? 'We're very sorry,' Clara said.

The man laughed. It was high and cold, and not at all pleasant to hear. Clara grabbed on to Morris' arm for dear life; his fingers dug into her shoulder. 'No you're not!' the man said.

'Sir …' Morris said.

'Did you happen to catch the names of the original researchers—those whom you were planning to cheat of fame?' The black-clad man twirled his wand in his fingers and took a step toward them; Clara and Morris took a step back.

Clara knew Morris hadn't bothered remembering the old researcher's names; he didn't have a mind for details. Clara did, though. 'Maxwell Keddle was the lead researcher,' she offered. Maybe that would satisfy him?

'He was a buffoon,' the black-clad man said harshly. 'I recall being told that he wet himself before he was killed … how ignominious.'

'Oh God,' Morris quivered. 'Please, God, don't kill us.' He sank out of Clara's arms to kneel on the floor, his arms wrapped around her knees.

'Aren't we the brave one?' the black-clad man commented. He made a guttural chuckle. 'Who else?' he then demanded.

Tears streamed down Clara's cheeks. 'Catalinus Harkiss,' she replied, unable to keep her voice from shaking. _Could we scream for help? Would it be too late?_

'I charmed the room to be soundproof when I entered, and your screams wouldn't be nearly entertaining enough to keep my interest, so I wouldn't recommend it. Screams of terror aren't as … high-quality … as screams of pain,' the black-clad man said casually. Clara let out a sob, wondering desperately how he could read her mind. He continued. 'Harkiss wasn't quite as much of an idiot as Keddle, but nothing particularly out of the ordinary … just another leech on wizardkind. I came across him by happenstance while torturing some Muggles and killed him personally. He didn't deserve the honour.'

Clara could feel the black-clad man leering at them, even if she couldn't see his face. Morris had buried his face in Clara's leg; she could feel the vibration of his voice on her skin as he prayed.

'_Avada Kedavra,_' the man said abruptly. Clara didn't have time to react before Morris was dead. As his arms fell limp and his corpse collapsed onto the floor, Clara shrieked and jumped away from the body, backing into the wall.

'Talking while I'm talking is very rude. Now, who else?' he prompted.

Clara struggled to regain control over her vocal chords. _Maybe if I say all the names right he'll let me go_. Yes, he did seem the sort to play that kind of game. Her entire body shaking with fear, Clara recited name after name. The black-clad man continued his pattern of expressing contempt for the person and then giving a brief synopsis of his or her demise.

'T-that's all, I swear,' Clara said when she had run out of names. 'Please, that's all.'

The man shook his head slowly. 'No,' he said, 'there was one more.'

'There wasn't!' Clara protested, nearly screaming. 'Those are the only names that were listed! Please, let me go!'

A few moments of silence followed as Clara struggled for breath. 'It was her,' the man said softly, as if to himself. 'She was brilliant … and coming from me that is quite a compliment … She was the only one with an original thought in her head.' He sounded wistful. 'She was lucky she wasn't mentioned in the papers … no, clever … she asked not to be. It was clever, not cowardly. She was the only one who understood what this meant. It couldn't hold a candle to her later work, but …'

With that, the man turned his wand on the machine; after a silent incantation and a blast of light, it crumbled into dust. 'Are the papers here?' he asked softly.

Clara nodded. 'Y-yes … in the drawer there …'

He made no move to reach them. '... A Dementor Net, they called it … it would hail them and they would come like moths to a flame, and the moment they entered the field their existences would be warped and pulled away. That was the theory, anyway … the old researchers never did get to test it in the field … nor will you.'

'I swear I'll never –'

'_Avada Kedavra_.'

Clara's body fell to the ground. 'Better that time,' the black-clad man said, nodding to himself. He pointed his wand to the desk; it went up in flames.

* * *

Seven minutes later, the black-clad man exited the second-floor office of Arviragus Dearborn, head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. No one saw him enter or leave, for on this floor he was careful enough to use an invisibility spell to mask his presence. It made his progress through the hall difficult, as he had to weave his way through Ministry employee after Ministry employee, but he was quick on his feet, so none of them felt anything more than a curious whisper of fabric sweeping next to them. 

'… got to get to the Muggle Prime Minister's office …' he heard his next target say. 'See you tonight.'

'Yes,' the voice of a female Auror replied. 'Harry –'

The rest of the female Auror's words were lost as a pair of giggling interns passed by the black-clad man's position. The two Aurors parted, one passing back through the doors to the Auror office, while the other, the one the black-clad man was most interested in, went through the door to the men's bathroom. Carefully, the black-clad man shifted to the other side of the hall and pushed the door open when no one was looking. It shut behind him softly.

The bathroom was empty save for Shacklebolt, who was using the urinal furthest to the right. The black-clad man moved quietly away from the door until he had a clear aim, his footsteps creating no echo. As Shacklebolt's stream of urine dried up, the black-clad man pointed his wand at him, and in the softest whisper, cast the Killing Curse.

The body dropped into the urinal, causing a clang as Shacklebolt's belt buckle hit porcelain. Then it crashed to the floor. The black-clad man pointed his wand at the corpse and levitated it into one of the toilet stalls, taking no particular care to be quiet anymore. The corpse landed on the toilet, its head lolling back awkwardly and its feet splayed, arms hanging at its sides.

The black-clad man waited near the door for nearly ten minutes before the next person entered. He swept out of the bathroom before the door closed and took a turn down the hall, coming to a stop in front of an office with a wide window looking out into the hallway. The office itself contained several cubicles, a receptionist at the front, and a large corner office with a window showcasing its occupant and a golden nameplate on the door with the name 'Arthur Weasley' printed in bold black letters.

The black-clad man removed his invisibility spell and walked in.


	8. Crossed Off

**A/N:** Here's Chapter 8. Sorry it's a day late :( It is longer than usual, though, if that makes up for it at all. I would say my usual "I hope you enjoy it", but I don't expect anyone to feel chipper by the end of this chapter; it is highly depressing. Read on if you dare. I still hope you "enjoy" it in the depressing sense ... and those of you who may be slightly disappointed by the letter should be happy with the contents of Chapter 9 (evil grin) ...

**IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ:** This fic is being put on hold for the next month due to exam period at my university and the huge amount of projects I have to finish. Chapter 9 is currently slated to be posted on April 28th; after that, I'll be back to my usual weekly update regimen :) Any changes to this plan will be posted in my user profile. For those of you who read my slash fics and are waiting for the posting of _Anomie_, the first chapter is still scheduled for May 1st.

_**Chapter 08: Crossed Off**_

The Burrow was subdued that morning, silent except for the wide, loud yawns of its sleepless occupants. Dirty platters and plates from the previous night were scattered over every hard surface of the room, floor included, accompanied by empty bottles of Butterbeer and limp streamers.

Harry was sitting in Mr Weasley's favourite chair. He eyes drooped; as he had done every time that night when he had thought he might fall asleep, he turned to the second piece of parchment in the letter Voldemort had sent him, propped up between the lamp and an empty mug. The top of it sagged; Harry held it up with his thumb as he forced himself to read it again.

The second piece of parchment, written in blood like the first, had a short, disturbing title with a decorative swirling underline: _Toys_. Harry grimaced as he read on. Words of the deepest red, written with thin, spidery strokes, formed a clean list of anyone Harry had known was in the Order of the Phoenix, along with a few names of newer members Harry hadn't heard of at all. Voldemort, it seemed, knew more about the Order of the Phoenix than Harry, and Harry couldn't pretend that it didn't bother him. But that wasn't the worst; there were other names written there that were far more meaningful.

He shuddered, not for the first time, when he reached the name _Hermione Granger_. Ron's name was further down on the list in a clump with every other Weasley in the family (Percy included, oddly enough, which gave Harry a guilty tinge of satisfaction; Voldemort hadn't got it all right, at least). Seeing Ginny's name there was even more disturbing. Hadn't she been tormented enough?

They were just words, Harry knew, but this crossed the line between his battle with Voldemort and his comparatively normal day-to-day life, the one in which Ron and Hermione argued over whether Arithmancy or Quidditch was more important, and in which Mrs Weasley brought Harry brownies and pumpkin juice while he read Dark Arts books. It wasn't exactly surprising that Voldemort knew about Harry's friends, and Harry had long recognized the inherent danger to anyone who was friends with him, but this was different. Ron and Hermione had never been targeted directly; Death Eaters had attacked Ron earlier that month, but only to get to Harry himself. Neither of Harry's best friends had even _seen_ Voldemort, yet they were being hunted by him because he was apparently too bloody cowardly to seek out Harry himself.

Thinking about it filled Harry with rage on top of his worry. Most of the Order hadn't seen Voldemort either, Harry supposed, but it still felt like cheating to toy with Harry's friends, no matter how irrational he knew the sentiment was. This was war, after all, and Voldemort wasn't above anything. What bothered Harry most was Voldemort's apparently complete control over exactly how their battle played out and who else got dragged in. Harry was always on the defensive, never the offensive. _That's going to change_, he thought determinedly.

Harry looked over at his friends; Ron's head was lolled back, his eyes closed, and Hermione was shielded from view except for the arm flung across Ron's chest. Neville had gone home only a couple hours before to talk to his grandmother; he had also been on the list, along with Luna Lovegood of all people, probably because they had both fought in the battle at the Department of Mysteries and during the Death Eater attack at Hogwarts that year. _I'm sure he consulted Snape, too,_ thought Harry bitterly, grimacing at the parchment.

And then there was the strangest name of all: _Elphias Doge_, a third of the way down, was scratched out with a thin, bloody line. It was this that had caused the most uproar that night; Remus and Tonks had left very quickly to inform the Order and to check on Elphias. Tonks had returned later to report that Elphias wasn't in his home and they couldn't find his body (she had used the word hesitantly) anywhere. There weren't even signs of a struggle. There was still hope that he was in a Muggle bowling alley somewhere—he and Albus Dumbledore had bonded over their fondness for tenpin bowling, as it turned out—but that hope was slim considering the evidence before them.

Harry jolted in surprise when the parchment was snatched out of his line of sight. He looked up to see Ron standing over him disapprovingly. 'You've glared at this enough,' he said. 'Whenever you sit down for more than five minutes you go back to this stupid bloody letter. It's not going to say anything different than it did before.'

Harry rubbed his tired left eye with the back of his hand. 'I wish they had let me go with them. We could help.'

'Harry …' began Hermione.

'We _could_,' insisted Harry. 'And we're adults now, I don't see why we shouldn't—'

'Because it's dumb,' replied Ron. He walked back over to Hermione with the paper still in his hand. 'We don't know where Doge would be. We couldn't be any help at all. Besides, they have enough Order members looking for him. It's not like it matters how long it takes before they find …' He gulped. '… You know,' Ron finished, his expression glum.

'They might not even find him at all,' said Hermione sadly. 'It wouldn't be the first time.'

The trio lapsed into silence after that. Soon they heard more bustling from the kitchen; Mrs Weasley made metallic clangs as she cooked Mr Weasley breakfast, Mr Weasley loudly flipped the pages of the _Daily Prophet_, and they talked to each other, though the words couldn't be made out by Harry's dull senses. Harry was beginning to doze off to the comforting household sounds when Ron said, 'We need to take our Apparition test soon.'

Harry opened his eyes abruptly. 'That's true,' he said. 'When do you want to do it?'

'I dunno,' replied Ron. 'Sometime.'

'Yeah.'

More silence followed. 'Maybe Monday?' Ron said eventually.

'Sure,' replied Harry.

'D'you suppose I'll pass this time?'

'Sure.'

That was the end of it. Harry closed his eyes again; he wasn't going to sleep, but they were too sore to keep open anymore. Behind closed eyelids, he thought about how being seventeen didn't seem any better than being sixteen so far. Harry could do magic now, but it wasn't helping anyone. What could he do to fix things? The letter Voldemort had sent him screamed that Voldemort was taunting Harry, that Voldemort wanted to call Harry out, and with the danger Harry's friends were in, Harry would have liked nothing better than to face him, Horcruxes or no Horcruxes, but Voldemort hadn't left a return address. _And what would I do? _Harry thought with a sense of hopelessness. _I couldn't even defeat Snape. How can I stop Voldemort?_ Harry wasn't stupid; he knew that if Dumbledore hadn't managed to kill Voldemort in all these years, _he_ didn't have much of a chance while Voldemort could hear Harry's thoughts with Legilimency as well as every spell he cast. Some of the books Harry had been given by Remus went into detail about Occlumency, and others gave tips for casting non-verbal spells. But the only thing Harry had been capable of practicing without magic was the mental relaxation Snape had insisted upon when Harry had been studying under him, and Harry was too suspicious of Snape to fully believe that it was a good idea. Harry knew he had to work for this victory, and he needed the Horcruxes to be destroyed if it was to be a real victory at all. But what consolation would that be to those who died in the meantime?

'Ron! Ginny! Harry! Hermione!' called Mrs Weasley from the kitchen. Ron and Hermione perked up; Harry left his musings feeling no better than when he had entered them.

Walking into the kitchen with Ron and Hermione, he caught a glimpse of four owls taking off through the window. Ginny was already at the table ripping into her letter. 'They're from Hogwarts,' she said. Mr Weasley looked up from his coffee with interest.

Harry opened the letter addressed to him and read it:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall_

_(Association of Transfiguration Fellowship Award for Excellence, Order of Merlin, Third Class)_

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We are sorry to inform you that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be closed for the 1997-1998 school year. Possibilities for alternative educational arrangements will be forthcoming._

_Yours sincerely,_

Filius Flitwick  
Deputy Headmaster

'I can't believe it,' said Ron, staring at his letter blankly.

Hermione sighed. 'It's not that surprising.' She still looked crestfallen, however.

'What is it?' asked Mr Weasley with interest.

'Hogwarts isn't going to be open this year, Dad,' said Ginny. She folded her letter and placed it on the table calmly; she didn't seem upset by the news.

'Hogwarts, closed?' said Mrs Weasley, her eyes widening in surprise. 'That's impossible! Let me see!' She grabbed Ron's letter out of his hands and read it. 'No … but it says something about alternative educational arrangements? Where else is there to send children to school?'

Four more owls flew through the window, dropping off a second letter to each of Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny before taking off again. Harry tore the Ministry of Magic seal off and read through it.

_Hogwarts Board of Governors  
7 Main Street  
Manningtree, Essex_

_Mr Potter,_

_Due to the recent decision to close Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the upcoming school year, the Hogwarts Board of Governors has instituted a program to send students abroad to receive a wizarding education. _

_The schools participating in the program are Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute. We intend to divide students in an approximately equal manner; however, you are asked to indicate which school you would prefer in your reply, should you decide to participate in the program. Preference will be given to sending siblings to the same school unless otherwise specified. Those students who were expecting to take their O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s in the upcoming year are encouraged to visit the headquarters of the Wizarding Examinations Authority upon their return for private testing._

_We expect your owl by no later than 15 August._

_Cordially yours,_

A list of board members followed. Harry had no intention of taking them up on the offer, though he did think it a good one. Mrs Weasley, who had read Ron's letter over his shoulder, replied, 'Oh, wonderful! This is better than Hogwarts reopening, I think!'

'What is it, dear?' asked Mr Weasley.

'They're being sent abroad to be educated,' said Mrs Weasley, excitement creeping into her voice. 'We have _connections_ in France now, so I'm sure Ginny and Ron and Harry and Hermione will be well taken care of at Beauxbatons.'

'We might get sent to Durmstrang,' Ginny reminded her pointedly, frowning, 'or we might be separated.'

'Nonsense! I'm sure that if you all specify Beauxbatons …'

Harry looked at Mr Weasley, who was looking down at his paper, his expression unreadable. 'Molly,' he said, his throat dry, 'I think we ought to discuss this.'

'There is _nothing_ to discuss,' said Mrs Weasley sharply. 'This is the only way for them to get an education, Arthur, and they'll be away from England! What more could we hope for?'

'I believe you are forgetting that three of the people in this room have a choice about whether or not to go.'

Molly's mouth widened into a large "O". 'Arthur!' she said, sounding scandalized.

Mr Weasley stood up; he looked very tired. 'Ron and I already discussed it, and—'

'How could you have already discussed it?' Mrs Weasley protested, glaring at her husband. 'The letters just arrived!'

'I spoke with Ron about his general plans for the upcoming year, and he, Harry, and Hermione do not intend to return to school,' said Mr Weasley. Raising his voice to speak over his wife, he added, 'They gave good reasons, though I don't necessarily agree on every point. I'm not happy about it either, but they're adults now.'

Mrs Weasley's face was a deep red, and she was snarling. 'A fine time this is to tell me! You've had weeks to confide in me! How could you drop it in my lap at a time like this?'

'I rather thought Ron would do it himself,' said Mr Weasley, sending Ron a mildly scolding look. Ron went red, looking very uncomfortable. He shuffled away from his mother, but there didn't seem much point to Harry because all the ire of her glare was being directed at Mr Weasley. Harry didn't think that was fair, but he also wasn't sure that it was his business to interrupt. Hermione looked equally torn.

'I don't accept it!' Mrs Weasley said. 'As long as they're living under my roof—'

At this, Harry had to speak up. 'Mrs Weasley, if at any point you want me to leave, I will. I'm sure Hermione and Ron feel the same way. We can stay somewhere else if we're not wanted here,' he added, thinking without pleasure of Grimmauld Place. He knew Mrs Weasley only wanted the best for them, but he wasn't going to be swayed.

Mrs Weasley turned on him. 'I didn't mean …' She stopped talking as her eyes met Harry's determined ones.

'But I do,' said Harry firmly. 'I'm not changing my mind on this, and neither are Hermione and Ron.'

'We're not, Mum,' echoed Ron, finally saying his peace. 'You're a great mum and all, and I know you're only going on about it because you care, but there comes a time in life when a fellow has to make choices, even if his mum doesn't like them much. You don't want Harry getting killed, do you? Hermione and I have to look out for him and help him out. We'd be awful best friends if we didn't.'

Mr Weasley looked at Ron with a twinkle in his eye and the beginnings of a smile; even Mrs Weasley was quiet for several moments.

'I … I don't know what to say … how to change your minds …' Mrs Weasley looked at them plaintively. 'Please, Ron … Harry …'

'Molly,' said Mr Weasley, not unkindly. 'We've raised good children, haven't we?'

There was a look shared between the two parents then; Harry wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it felt private.

'I'm not going either,' said Ginny.

'You're fifteen, Ginny,' said Mr Weasley. He pried his eyes away from his wife's reluctantly to look at his daughter, his eyebrows raised. 'You aren't yet of age to make your own decisions about things like this. You're going and that's that.'

It was to Ginny's credit, Harry thought, that she didn't argue further. She knew when she was beaten. And perhaps, if she saw the exhaustion in Mr Weasley's eyes that Harry did, she didn't want to add to his troubles.

'Yes, Daddy,' she whispered.

Mr Weasley leaned over and pecked her on the forehead; then he squeezed her shoulders. 'That's my girl. There will be plenty of time to grow up.' He sighed. 'I'm off to work.'

'Take care,' said Ginny quietly. She was looking down at her lap in resignation.

'See you tonight, Arthur. You won't be late again?' asked Mrs Weasley anxiously.

'No, I don't think so. Business has been slow in my office lately—comparatively.' He kissed his wife on the cheek, then softly on the lips. 'See you tonight.'

Arthur Weasley opened the back door and walked out; the door closed with a clatter in his wake.

* * *

Harry wanted more than ever to practice the spells in the books Remus had given him, but Hermione gently—and correctly—pointed out that none of them were fit to be casting dangerous new spells on each other that day. 'It would be best not to cause the Order even more trouble. We don't want to end up in St Mungo's,' she said as she collapsed onto the couch. 'We'll be no worse off for practicing the spells tomorrow.' 

'When's our first lesson going to be?' asked Ron, stifling a yawn.

'Remus didn't say.'

'It certainly won't be today,' said Hermione. 'Thank goodness.'

'Maybe we should all go upstairs and get a few hours of sleep like Ginny,' suggested Ron. 'You look exhausted, Harry.'

Harry hadn't looked at himself in a mirror that day, but he didn't doubt that he looked as tired as he felt. 'I guess there's nothing for us to do for now,' said Harry unhappily. Then he felt a sudden burst of indignation. 'No, this is stupid. I'm supposed to be helping people. We should be looking for R.A.B.!' He sat up straighter in his chair and tried not to slump back into it.

Ron closed his eyes. 'What's the point? We're not going to have any brilliant ideas today. We're tired.'

'I'm going to bed,' Hermione declared. She stood up and looked at the boys. 'A few hours will do wonders for all of us.'

'Great, Voldemort can go off murdering people while we get cosy.' Harry grumbled. Then he shook his head. '… Sorry, I know I'm being cranky.'

'You're just tired,' said Hermione kindly. 'It's been a stressful night.'

'I'm going up,' Ron said. He moved to stand beside Hermione. 'You coming, Harry?'

Harry struggled with the decision a moment. 'No, I think I'll stay here. Remus said he might come back.'

Harry's friends looked at him worriedly. 'If you're sure …' said Hermione.

'I'll be okay.'

'See you later then, I guess,' said Ron, not sounding happy.

As soon as Ron and Hermione's backs were turned, Harry's eyes drooped. He struggled with them, but found himself curling up in the chair and closing his eyes against his will. _I'll just think about R.A.B. while I rest my eyes a little …_

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open. He tensed; his limbs weren't where he remembered putting them. He pushed himself up on his elbow. There was a blanket on top of him and a pillow underneath his head; the scratchy fabric of the Weasley's couch was making him itch where his bare skin touched it. Slowly and groggily, Harry threw off the blanket and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes. How long had he been asleep? Glancing at the clock in the corner, he saw it was only 10:23, around an hour and a half since Hermione and Ron had left. _I haven't wasted too much time, then._

He stood up; Harry's legs felt like they hadn't moved for days. _I'm tired_, Harry realized; it was the first time the thought had taken up so much space in his head that day, and it would have been enough to make him curl back up under the blanket had he not caught sight of the letter again. It lay face down on the table where Ron had left it, and Harry's hand moved to grab it before his reasoning faculties could stop it. _It's the same bloody thing as before,_ his brain managed to grumble before Harry flipped the parchment around. The little finger of his right hand brushed back and forth idly against the edge of the paper as he looked down the near-memorized list again.

'What?' he whispered. His brow crinkled as he stared at the name _Kingsley Shacklebolt _on the parchment. Unlike before, the same sort of thin red line that had crossed off Elphias Doge's name now crossed off Kingsley's as well. Harry's throat went dry.

The parchment was obviously magical, so Harry didn't bother wasting time wondering how Kingsley's name had come to be crossed out. Instead he walked quickly up the stairs until he reached Hermione's room, which was closer to the ground floor than Ron's. He knocked on the door loudly.

A few moments later, a bleary-eyed Hermione peered out at Harry. 'What is it?' she asked, her voice cracking.

'Kingsley's dead,' said Harry. He held the parchment up, and her hands grabbed it.

'His name's crossed out,' said Hermione plainly.

'Exactly,' Harry replied gravely. 'The parchment's enchanted.'

Hermione became more alert as she caught up with what he was saying. 'Where's Ron? Have you told him yet? And what about Mrs Weasley?'

'Who's dead?' Harry heard Ginny call from inside the room. Soon she, too, was at the door. Hermione passed her the parchment.

'Oh,' whispered Ginny, stricken. 'I … I liked Kingsley.'

Harry swallowed. 'So did I. We've got to find out where he is.'

'What difference does it make now?' Hermione said, her face plaintive. 'You said … you said we were sitting around doing nothing while Voldemort's … while he's off …'

'We don't know it was Voldemort,' said Ginny, 'and it's not as though Kingsley couldn't take care of himself. He _was_ an Auror.'

'Maybe we're taking this too seriously,' said Hermione in a rush. 'Maybe the parchment is wrong, maybe Voldemort is trying to lure Harry into a trap again …'

Harry smiled sadly at her; he didn't like it that Hermione was so upset, and he supposed that the parchment _could_ be lying, but his instincts were telling him otherwise. 'I … I don't think I'm wrong. Why would Voldemort want us to think Kingsley's dead? It's not as though we can do anything about it now, like you said. It's not the same as with Sirius.'

Hermione didn't reply, but Harry could tell from her sombre expression that she believed him. 'Let's go tell Ron now, okay?' said Harry.

Hermione nodded. Soon Ron and Mrs Weasley had been shown the altered parchment. 'Do you know where Kingsley might be, Mrs Weasley?' Harry asked her down in the kitchen.

Mrs Weasley shook her head. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, a few more making their way down her cheeks. The murder of two Order members in one day was not at all common, Harry realized, especially with one of the deceased being such a skilled Auror. 'I know he doesn't work in the Ministry offices now because Arthur said the Minister had given him a special assignment,' said Mrs Weasley, 'but I'm not sure of the details—'

They were all startled by a pounding knock at the back door. Mrs Weasley went to get it; 'It's Bill,' she said.

She opened the door and he strode in quickly; his face was red and shining with sweat. He stared at them, bewildered to see so many people crowded into the kitchen so late in the morning, but didn't comment. 'There's been an attack at the Ministry,' he said, wiping his brow.

Everyone looked at Mrs Weasley; her eyes widened into saucers, and one of her trembling hands reached up to touch lightly upon her lips. Her eyes sought reassurance from Bill. 'Arthur?' she asked softly, the question clear. Her head whipped around to look at the family clock that she took with her everywhere; Mr Weasley's hand was pointing firmly at 'work', unlike all the others, whose hands were pointing at 'mortal peril'. Though they let out a collective breath of relief, Harry still wondered what that could mean. How was Mr Weasley safer now than they were?

'I don't know where dad is, Mum,' Bill said, looking much calmer than when he had burst in, 'but the Dark Mark is over the building.' Mrs Weasley let out a sharp cry of dismay as Bill continued. 'St Mungo's says that everyone is being evacuated floor by floor from the bottom up. Dad's on the second floor, so it'll take a while for him to be let out.'

'I thought Kingsley wasn't at Ministry headquarters, Mum,' said Ron. 'Not that his murder would've had to take place there!' he affixed hastily upon seeing his mother's expression.

'Kingsley's dead?' Bill said loudly in surprise. 'How?'

'We don't know, but his name's crossed off on the list of people Harry got from Voldemort,' explained Ginny, holding up the letter.

Bill took it and stared around the spot where Kingsley's name was with dismay. 'He works at the Ministry though, doesn't he, Kingsley?' Bill looked back at the clock to reassure himself.

'Yes, but he goes somewhere else during the day,' said Mrs Weasley.

'Dad's fine, right?' Ron cut in. 'His hand says he's at work; he's not even in danger at all!'

'If he were injured, that's where the clock would be pointing,' Mrs Weasley said confidently, nodding over to it. Sure enough, Harry looked at it again and noticed the word 'injured' on the face.

Mr Weasley, at least, was fine, but what about everyone else in the Ministry building? _Something_ had happened there. 'Is there any way we could help?' Harry asked, thinking it was stupid for them to be standing around wondering what had happened when they could go find out. 'We could help the Ministry evacuate …'

'I don't think it's possible,' said Bill, sounding resigned. 'I'm frustrated about not being able to do anything, myself, but the fireplaces into the Ministry have been shut off, so we can't even get inside.'

'What about the visitor's entrance?' asked Hermione.

Bill glowered at the floor. 'There are Muggles swarming the building, I heard, and not an Obliviator in sight; they're all trapped on the third floor. It's awfully hard for the Muggles to ignore a giant Dark Mark in the sky in the middle of London. We could never get in unnoticed that way.'

'I'm guessing Apparition is out of the question?' said Harry gloomily.

'The Ministry has wards against that sort of thing,' replied Bill.

'I suppose we'll just have to wait until Arthur gets home.' Mrs Weasley didn't sound too happy about it.

'But what if the Death Eater who sent the mark up is still hanging around the building?' said Ron, sounding grim.

'Look!' said Ginny, her eyes fixed on the clock. Every head in the room swivelled toward it again; they watched as the longest hand, Mr Weasley's, moved to point to the word 'hospital'.

'Why would Dad be at St Mungo's?' said Ron immediately, frowning.

Harry was equally perplexed; if Mr Weasley wasn't injured, or dead, why would he be at the hospital? _Maybe he's just helping out, bringing people in from the Ministry who were hurt. _That made sense enough.

'They can't very well stop me from going in if my husband's there!' said Mrs Weasley determinedly, already reaching for an old cloak hanging on a nail by the back door. 'I'm going!'

'You're not the only one!' said Ron.

'I'd like to go,' said Hermione quietly, her face pale. 'I know I'm not family—'

'Of course you are!' Ginny replied emphatically. 'You and Harry both! We're all going! You're not staying here alone.'

Hermione and Harry both smiled appreciatively. Without further ado, they departed.

* * *

'Out of the way, out of the way!' 

'Another one for spell damage!'

'If you're not bleeding internally, come back later!'

St Mungo's was as much a madhouse as a narrow hall at Hogwarts a minute before the start of class, and more. Hospital staff in lime-green robes dotted the reception area, which was full to bursting with Ministry employees, some injured, most not.

'For the last time, sod off!' shouted a tiny witch in a squeaky voice to a gaggle of intruders close to Harry and the others. 'If you're not injured, you have to go! We're too full to have people loitering 'round! Shoo!' She waved them off, and the disgruntled Ministry workers—who, upon closer inspection, had cameras hanging around their necks and quills in their hands, and so were likely not Ministry employees at all—scattered, each moving to lurk in his own corner.

'State your names and business! Quick!' The same very short, bony witch looked up at them with her arms crossed and her foot tapping.

Mrs Weasley cleared her throat. 'My name is Molly Weasley; my husband is here somewhere. I don't know if he's been checked in—'

'Family can stay, rest have to leave,' she said coldly. 'I'll check the records, follow me.'

The tiny witch walked away at a quick pace, and the Weasleys struggled to keep up as they moved through the crowd. Harry lagged behind with Hermione at first, wondering if they ought to leave, but a subtle tug from Ginny was all that was needed to remind Harry that he _was_ wanted there.

The reception desk was crowded with people yelling at several clearly overwrought receptionists, each trying to answer demands one at a time and failing to hear a single one clearly over the din. 'Stay here,' said the tiny witch loudly as they approached the desk, not even bothering to look back at them. Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys immediately stopped moving as ordered; the witch continued on past the crowd to a door that led behind the desk. Once she was through it, Harry watched as she disappeared completely behind another door; he stood there with the others, directionless.

'Move aside!' a wizard yelled loudly, his voice magically magnified. Harry couldn't tell where the voice was coming from and wondered if they were the ones who ought to be moving; the people to Harry's left were squeezing toward him, however, so he wasn't in the way. He couldn't see what was happening, but the crowd became very quiet as the wizard passed through. Harry heard whispers of a poor young witch with horrendously blackened, twisted limbs. _What could have happened?_ Harry wondered. He turned to talk to Ron about it, but Ron and Mrs Weasley were watching the tiny, bossy witch moving toward them again.

'Follow me!' said the witch, not pausing in her stride as she brushed past them. Her rapt audience fell in line; they jostled their way through the crowd and ended up at the elevator. The witch tapped it with her wand and the door opened.

Immediately a half dozen other people, almost all with cameras, turned toward them and made a beeline for the elevator. The tiny witch grabbed Mrs Weasley's, Bill's, Ron's, Ginny's, Hermione's, and finally Harry's arm in a bruising grip and shunted each through. She pointed her wand at the others trying to get in with a humourless expression on her face. She backed into the elevator; the door closed on the disappointed faces of the reporters. The witch pressed the button for the fourth floor, Spell Damage, and turned to them as the elevator started moving.

'You're lucky I found you,' she said, sounding far friendlier now that they were alone with her, though still not smiling remotely. 'You might have been in line for hours. Someone from the Ministry was recently dispatched to your home to inform you about your husband. He _is_ your husband, yes?'

With all the knowledge she had gleaned from her special clock, Mrs Weasley hadn't looked overly concerned when they had first entered St Mungo's. They had all thought Mr Weasley would be among those Ministry officials making inquiries about the injured to inform their families, not one of the ones being informed about, and Mrs Weasley was no different. But the witch's words, too kind to signal anything good, caused Mrs Weasley's face to collapse; the muscles in her jaw twitched and her arms shook as she nodded. 'What … what happened?' Mrs Weasley asked hoarsely.

The elevator door opened; they were at their stop. The witch waited until they had all exited the elevator before leaving herself. Her eyes never left Mrs Weasley.

A shiver went down Harry's spine. Something was very wrong.

The witch opened her mouth, and for the first time looked as stunned as the receptionists being bellowed at downstairs. Her mouth shut again, as though her courage to speak had failed her. 'Would you please follow me?' she said quietly. She turned away before they could answer or ask questions and walked, slower than before, down the hall. After maybe half a minute of walking, she stopped abruptly, and Mrs Weasley almost crashed into her in her daze. The witch turned around, and sounding kinder than she had yet, asked softly, 'Do any of you know what a Legilimens is?'

She did not sound as if she thought any of them would, and her mouth was opening to speak again before Hermione said, before Harry could, 'A mind reader.' Hermione did not go on as was her wont; no one wanted to hear anything except what the tiny witch had to say.

'Yes,' said the witch. 'I don't know if you want me to continue … in front of the children …?' She looked at Mrs Weasley questioningly; Mrs Weasley bit her lip, and nodded shakily again. At first, the witch looked unsure of how to continue. 'There are … there are ways to use such abilities … if the Legilimens is uncommonly skilled … to … to tear the mind apart …'

One name immediately sprang to mind, but Harry almost discounted it. Would Voldemort really have the nerve to walk right into the Ministry of Magic? He had been reluctant enough about entering the Department of Mysteries in Harry's fifth year to lure Harry there so Harry could get the Prophecy without Voldemort having to go further than the Atrium. _But that was when Dumbledore was alive_, realized Harry.

The witch glanced toward one of the doors nearby. It took Harry a moment to recognize the plaque on the door, but when he did his heart was racked by an icy shudder. He looked at Ron, and from the shock in his eyes knew that he recognized it too. They continued a few steps more down the hall until they reached ward 49, the Janus Thickey ward, the place where Gilderoy Lockhart had been shut up after losing his mind … the place where Neville's parents had spent the last sixteen years …

The witch tapped her wand on the door, and the locked clicked open. Time had never seemed slower to Harry than it did while she pushed the door open. 'I'll leave you here,' the witch said gently. 'The Healer-in-Charge is with your husband now.' She looked in and said, 'Healer? The victim's wife and family are here.' The word _victim_ stuck uncomfortably in Harry's mind.

'Send them in,' the Healer replied from within. Mrs Weasley took a deep, choked breath before stepping across the threshold. Harry, too, tried to steel himself for the worst before he went in.

Mr Weasley was in a white-sheeted hospital bed, propped up in a sitting position by a couple of pillows. He was as pale as everything else in the room, which was odd enough in and of itself for such a lively man. The Healer, a tall Arab man, stepped up to them before Harry could ascertain anything more about Mr Weasley's condition; his eyes immediately swept to Harry and Hermione, as they clearly weren't family. He looked as though he were about to protest, but when his eyes swept over the scar on Harry's forehead, he seemed to think better of it. The Healer turned back to Mrs Weasley, who was trying to look around the Healer to get a better view of her husband. 'Mrs Weasley,' the Healer said, catching her eye again. 'I am Healer Sina, the Healer-in-Charge. I have been examining your husband.'

'A pleasure to meet you,' Mrs Weasley said automatically, without inflection, extending her hand. He shook it. 'Please, what's happened to my husband? It isn't anything too serious, I hope.'

'Mum …' Ron choked out. Harry turned to look at him; he was as pale as Mr Weasley. 'Mum, this is …' Ron turned to look at the place where Lockhart had been before, and where he still stayed, if the posters of himself with every inch of them signed were any indication. Harry took note of a figure with a sheet pulled over itself shifting on the bed there.

'This is the Janus Thickey ward, Mrs Weasley,' said the Healer, continuing from where Ron left off. 'It is reserved for patients who have undergone severe spell damage that affects the mind.'

'Yes, the witch outside told me Arthur was … hurt with Legitimantcy, was it?' said Mrs Weasley. 'But surely he'll recover, Obliviation has been known to …'

The Healer looked at her sadly. 'I'm very sorry, Mrs Weasley, but I'm afraid this is not like Obliviation damage at all.' The Healer glanced over to Lockhart briefly. 'Obliviation damage can be partially or fully recovered from in most cases. It is concentrated only on making the target forget; the memories themselves are usually still present, but their connections to the rest of the mind have been severed. It is possible to rebuild such connections … slowly … but Legilimancy damage destroys the mind itself …'

Mrs Weasley pushed past the Healer and rushed to Mr Weasley's bedside. 'Oh, Arthur!' Harry heard her cry. 'Arthur!'

The Healer moved, and Harry saw Mrs Weasley shaking her husband by the shoulders; he was giving all the response of a rag doll. As Healer Sina pulled the sobbing Mrs Weasley back, Ron brushed past Harry, moving to the other side of the bed. Harry watched Ron stare into Mr Weasley's eyes. Ginny and Bill joined him; they, too, apparently saw no sign of recognition in their father. Hermione grabbed Harry's hand tightly, and Harry squeezed it in reassurance. Maybe they were family, of a sort, but Harry knew he and Hermione couldn't possibly understand the emotions playing behind Ron's blank, blinking stare, or the depth of anguish present in Mrs Weasley's tears. Harry saw Ginny's mouth move, but couldn't hear what she said; Bill grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug as tears trailed down his own scarred cheeks.

Harry took a step forward, then another. No one but Hermione seemed aware of him. Harry pulled his hand completely out of Hermione's grip and took another step. He walked past Mrs Weasley, who was sobbing and trying to say something unintelligible to the Healer, and moved to the side of the bed opposite Ron and his siblings. Ron looked up at Harry as he stopped in the spot directly opposite Ron; Ron's mouth was slightly open, his arms hanging at his sides, his eyes hopeless. It was hard to look away, but Harry did, his stare moving instead to rest on Mr Weasley.

For a moment, Harry saw the same vegetative, slack-jawed, undirected stare that had caused Ron to look so broken, but the moment was brief. Upon sight of Harry, Mr Weasley's jaw almost immediately snapped shut; his lips stretched into a curled, evil smile. But it was his eyes that made the greatest transformation; the blank stare changed to a vicious, focused one, eyes dancing with embers of red. Harry felt only a brief, sharp burn from his scar before his vision turned to one of complete darkness, as though he had closed his eyes without knowing it, only none of his other senses seemed to be working either. Not even his brain was working normally; he felt no panic, no pain.

It seemed like a long time to Harry before a dim light began to filter into the dark. Soon after, Harry recognized that he was sitting down, his arms splayed and resting on the armrests of a wide, high-backed chair. He heard the flickering motions of torches around him, and tasted dampness in the air. He was still, as though he were awaking from a long, medicated sleep and his mind could not yet think to move his limbs. An unmistakable voice, high-pitched for a man's and filled with hate, fell upon his ears.

'The mannequin awakens,' said Voldemort.


	9. A Meeting of Minds

**A/N: **Hi all! Sorry for the long wait between chapters. I should be back to a weekly update schedule from now on :) This chapter is shorter than usual, but the material is pretty potent. I hope you enjoy it!

_**Chapter Nine: A Meeting of Minds**_

The sound of the voice brought the rough stone room, tinged green by the torchlight, into sharper relief. It was littered with small items sitting atop mismatched little tables and peeking out from half-closed cabinets; it seemed to Harry like a parody of Dumbledore's office. In front of him stood a small marble-topped cocktail table, and a Slytherin banner hung on the opposite wall. Another armchair identical to Harry's own sat in front of him, empty. His own armchair was deep red; the other, dark green. Harry's right hand searched his pocket for his wand, but it wasn't there.

He looked closer about the room to locate the voice, but there was no movement save for a few trinkets tilting or turning on their own. 'Where are you?' demanded Harry. His head darted from side to side, then across the ceiling and back again. 'Come out!'

At first there was no response. Then a faint booming sound, like far-off lightning, caused Harry to jolt his head to stare right ahead of him. A dark, wispy cloud hung over the chair, and Harry could hear a distant voice chanting from within it. He stood up and watched the cloud intently, his hands digging into his pockets, _begging _his wand to appear.

The wisps coalesced into a jagged, lightning-shaped tear. Without warning, the tear blinked silently out of existence, and the soft chanting ceased. In its place was Lord Voldemort, reclining. His voluminous, ink-black robes swallowed all of his thin form save for his grotesquely long fingers and his pale, serpentine face. As the two enemies took in the sight of each other, Voldemort's lipless mouth contorted into a wide smirk.

Harry remembered Mrs Weasley tearfully shaking her shattered husband; Ginny and Bill holding each other; Ron's dead eyes looking up at him. It was all he could think of. Harry shot Voldemort a look filled with fury. '_You_.'

At that moment it didn't matter at all to Harry that he didn't have his wand. He didn't need one. Like an enraged animal, he surged forward, jumping onto the table separating him from his enemy and flinging himself forward, his eyes and his hands centred on Voldemort's neck.

In the next instant, Harry was back in his own armchair, blinking and disoriented. He caught a brief glimpse of astonishment on Voldemort's face before it was smothered by another smirk. Snarling, Harry leapt at him again, only to find himself back in the armchair once more before getting near enough to touch his opponent.

'Physical assault, Harry? You've been living with those Muggles for too long.'

'Shut up,' Harry snapped. Mockery gleamed out at him from those cold, red eyes, and Harry launched himself at him again.

Once Harry was back in his armchair for the third time, Voldemort said, 'You're a slow learner, Potter. Are you going to continue to waste our time together? Must I restrain you?'

Harry gritted his teeth and glared, his fingers digging into the armrests. 'What did you do to Mr Weasley?'

Voldemort looked puzzled at Harry's question for an instant before replying, 'Him? What does he matter? He's unimportant.'

'He is not!' Harry said, close to shouting. 'Whatever you did to him, you had better fix it!'

'Or what, boy?' asked Voldemort softly, his eyes locked on Harry's own. Harry turned immediately, remembering that Voldemort was a Legilimens, and that eye contact was important. Voldemort didn't need to know Harry didn't have a wand …

'Of course you don't have a wand … that would defeat the purpose of this visitation …' Harry stiffened in surprise, and Voldemort added, 'Between enemies as close as we are, Harry, eye contact isn't a necessity with such unguarded thoughts … Besides …' He gestured to the room around them. 'In this place, a wand is useless … we are not together in the physical sense. Haven't you noticed that your scar does not burn? We are in a little cranny I carved into the mind of the oh-so-terribly-important Mr Weasley. This room is crafted from thoughts … my thoughts. It is an elegant mental trap. I knew you would come … I chose my victim well …'

'Make him normal again!' Harry demanded.

Voldemort sighed. 'Silly boy … it is not so easy to mend a mind as it is to destroy one … and I am not at all inclined to bother.'

'Then we have nothing to discuss.' Harry crossed his arms and looked away. He was determined not to play on Voldemort's terms anymore; he had nothing to gain from it.

'Then you may listen.'

Voldemort paused. Harry felt eyes boring into the side of his face. He struggled not to look, for the sake of pride rather than for the sake of secrets. Harry was torn about whether to argue or stick his fingers in his ears and sing loudly, but then he remembered how useless his search for Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes had been since Dumbledore's death. If there was a chance, however small, that Voldemort might accidentally reveal something important, he had to let the monster speak.

When Harry remained silent, Voldemort continued, 'It was impossible for us to meet, even in this way, so long as you lived under the protection of your mother's blood. Once you passed into the custody of Hogwarts for the duration of the school year you were, of course, fair game … but you were protected from me for the summers in this way, and from everyone else by a web of protection and misdirection cast by the late Albus Dumbledore.' Voldemort rolled his tongue around the words "late Albus Dumbledore", his enjoyment of them obvious.

'So you see, Harry, I've been waiting impatiently for your coming of age. I could have sent Death Eaters to attack you at the Weasleys' home before, but—'

'But you wanted me for yourself,' Harry interrupted, turning toward Voldemort, momentarily forgetting that he hadn't intended to participate in the discussion. Embarrassed at his lack of control and annoyed by Voldemort's ugly grin, Harry turned away again.

'Yes. I intend to capture and kill you myself,' said Voldemort calmly.

Harry stood up, furious, and stared him directly in the eye. 'Why don't you, then? Why don't you stop picking on innocent people and come get me? Are you too afraid? Are you a _coward_, Voldemort?'

Silence fell heavily over the room. 'Do you think you would survive?' asked Voldemort in barely a whisper, focused on Harry's eyes. Harry swallowed, but held his head high and did not break eye contact.

'In a straight duel to the death, you would lose. You should be grateful that I chose to meet you today on fairly neutral ground.'

'I will never be grateful for you harming other people instead of me,' Harry replied coldly.

'Where did Dumbledore take you on the evening of his death?'

The question took Harry completely by surprise, and the answer came unbidden to his mind. He immediately felt Voldemort delving into him, his glittering eyes like grasping hands pulling on Harry's brain. Harry recoiled from them, but the images were torn from his mind … the cave, the basin, the Inferi …

The assault stopped so abruptly that Harry fell to his knees in shock, knocking one against the sharp edge of the table as he did so. His skull was pounding, and his lungs would only take in short gasps of air. Compared to this, Snape had been _gentle _…

'There there, child, it's over now, shh,' murmured Voldemort, as though he were trying to comfort him. 'Unpleasant, isn't it?'

Harry tried to regain control. Focusing on a hairline crack in the stone floor, he forced himself to push the pain away and took several deep, steadying breaths. Grabbing the side of the table, he used it to pull himself to his feet. Once Harry was confident that he could keep standing on his own power, he let go, and directed a fierce glare at Voldemort.

'I thought up the chair for a reason, you know.'

Harry pointedly did not sit down.

'So you and Dumbledore retrieved my locket … and you destroyed my diary …'

Harry forced himself to remain impassive. After all, if Voldemort thought Harry and Dumbledore had retrieved the real locket Horcrux instead of the fake, there wouldn't be any competition for finding it. He waited on edge for several moments for another Legilimency attack, but Voldemort wasn't even looking at him: he was staring at his own hand, counting the Horcruxes off on his fingers.

Voldemort raised a third finger on his left hand. 'And then there's the ring. Dumbledore took care of that one on his own, from what I heard.' Voldemort's mouth twitched in amusement. 'Snape told me all about it.'

His gaze turned on Harry again. Though Harry did not feel any probing into his mind, he did get the distinct, crawling feeling that he was being watched closely for his reaction. 'Snape has told me a good deal,' Voldemort said slowly. 'He knows a great deal about you. I'm rather jealous about all the time he's spent with you for all these years. He was very helpful in having you brought here … it was he who suggested Weasley as the appropriate target.'

It was as though a fist had closed around Harry's gut. His eyes widened and his jaw clenched shut. A spark of particular alertness lit in Voldemort's eyes. 'Look at that … hatred …' He tilted his head and looked at Harry with clinical coldness. Jealousy ringing in his voice, he said, 'Odd, that you hate him more than me …'

'I'll kill you both!' roared Harry, nostrils flaring.

Voldemort smiled slightly. The torchlight fluttered. 'Will you?' He stood up swiftly, and Harry took a step back reflexively in surprise. 'Why don't you start, then?'

Harry felt, suddenly, the smooth wood of his wand held tightly in his fist. 'How –'

'Perception,' whispered Voldemort. 'My perception, that is.'

Harry didn't understand in the slightest, but he didn't much care to. He had his wand, and he intended to do exactly what Voldemort had suggested. He pointed his wand directly at his enemy's chest; the room felt too small for this, the target too close … if Harry reached his arm out entirely, he'd be poking Voldemort with his wand, right over the heart …

'What are you waiting for, Harry?'

'You said magic doesn't work here!' Harry protested, unsure.

Cold laughter echoed loudly, the sound ricocheting off the stone walls. 'Are you completely stupid? What do you think Legilimency is, fool? I lied, Potter.' He stopped laughing, but continued to look at Harry mockingly.

_Idiot!_ Harry thought to himself, embarrassed at not having thought of that. _Focus, Harry. You need to think! _

'Well, Harry? Can you cast a proper Killing Curse?'

He had never tried. But how could he not now? With Voldemort standing in front of him, how could he not try? _What he did to Mr Weasley … he deserves to die for that, _thought Harry, his face set with determination. His nemesis stood still before him but for a tapping foot, waiting. _He deserves to die._

Then a passage from one of the Defence Against the Dark Arts books Harry had been reading _—_ he was not Hermione, so he could not quite remember _which _passage, or _which_ book _—_ came to mind. His eyes widened briefly in surprise; then, with a small, superior smile, Harry said, 'No.'

'No?' Voldemort repeated. He sneered. 'Too cowardly to kill me, Potter?'

Harry's icy smile broadened. 'There's no point. It won't do anything. We're in a mindscape; I read all about it. Magic that harms the mind will work here, but not magic that harms the body, since our bodies are not present to be harmed.' His eyes taunting, Harry added, 'You lied when you said you were lying.'

Harry looked down at his wand. 'Perception.' Taking one end in either hand, he snapped it. The two pieces of his wand disappeared in his hands. 'Enough games. Did you bring me here to laugh at me? I would think that you, of all people, would take this more seriously.'

With that, Harry sat back down in his own chair and stared intently into a blizzard that had picked up in a snow globe in the corner, giving off a clear impression of dismissal. When Harry looked again, Voldemort was back in his chair, leaning his head on his hand, and looking at Harry with an indiscernible expression.

'You're taller than when I last saw you.'

'You look exactly the same,' retorted Harry.

Voldemort's face twisted into a very odd and ugly grin. 'Yes.'

Harry noticed that the blizzard in the snow globe was receding. 'I really do have other places to be, you know.'

Quietly, Voldemort replied, 'Yes, of course. I thank you for this chat, Harry … it has been extremely informative so far. There is only one more matter for us to discuss: the Prophecy.'

Harry's eyes lit up in panicked realization. Voldemort nodded. 'Yes, I could do it that way … I could rip it from your mind, like an apple from a tree …' A cocktail glass sprung into his hand; he lifted it to his mouth and took a small sip; lowering it only as much as necessary to speak, he continued, 'Or you could simply tell me, and we could both be on our way with no pain involved … your choice, Potter …'

Harry jumped to his feet, balling his hands into fists. 'I will never give you _anything_ willingly.' But he felt far less valorous on the inside; how would he stop Voldemort from just _taking_ what he wanted? Harry was terrible at Occlumency. _But I can't let him have it!_ Harry thought desperately.

Voldemort let out a false long-suffering sigh. 'Such a hero … _Legilimens!_'

Harry grabbed his head in his hands as the pain assaulted his senses. _I won't think about it, I won't let him have it … _Harry grit his teeth and forced his brain to stop, and it seemed to be working …

Then he heard Voldemort's voice in his mind. _Tell me, Harry … I know Dumbledore must have told you before his death … The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … what is the rest, Harry? The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies …_

It was as though Harry himself were thinking the words … as though Voldemort was following a thread in Harry's own thoughts. Harry had gone over the Prophecy in his mind so many times, and Voldemort was invoking his mental reflex to finish the lines.

… _and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal …_

Harry could _feel_ Voldemort's excitement, his trepidation …

… _but he will have power —_

'No!' Harry cried out.

_Yes!_ Voldemort insisted, and Harry screamed, his mind burning with Voldemort's glee. _I must have it, Potter! It is not fair, for only you to know … not fair at all …_

The rest came out in a torrent of thought.

… _but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … the one with the power to destroy the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …_

Then it was over. Harry felt like Voldemort had gone at his head with an ice pick centred over his scar. The word _inelegant_ came to mind, and Harry stifled a delirious giggle. Perhaps this was what the Longbottoms had felt like when they had lost their minds. 'So you are the key …' he heard Voldemort whisper. Yes, Harry was certainly going mad …

'To your … underpants drawer!' Harry howled. He rolled out of the position on the floor he had fallen into and curled onto his side, laughing hysterically.

Voldemort sneered in disgust, looking down at Harry as though he were drunk trash on the street. 'I didn't break you. The insanity should be temporary … the really mad ones don't laugh …'

Harry just kept laughing … and laughing … his eyes were tightly closed, and hot tears streamed down his cheeks … he dimly heard someone calling his name ...

Still struggling with laugher, Harry opened his eyes a crack. His mouth was sore from grinning; his vision was blurred. 'Harry?' someone said, clearer this time. There was a forceful grip on his right hand. 'Harry …?'

Warm breath hit his cheek, and wide eyes stared into his own. With a curious mad impulse, Harry's free hand reached up and grabbed at the slim neck, pressing the other's face down onto his. Their lips connected.

'Mmph!'

He was smacked across the face. As Harry let go, his companion sprang away from him immediately. 'Harry!'

The slap left Harry feeling suddenly alert; everything was clearer, and his brain felt like it was working properly again. His eyes leapt completely open and he pushed himself up into a sitting position on his hospital bed. Then he looked at the person standing by his right side; horrified, he said, '_Hermione?_'

Hermione was wiping her lips with the back of her hand, looking at Harry as though he were insane … which he had been, really. 'What on earth was _that_ about?' she demanded.

'Um, sorry, I —'

The door was thrown open with such force that it banged against the door. 'I thought I heard … Harry!' said Ron, striding into the room. Harry and Hermione both went quiet and very red. 'Thank Merlin! I …'

Ron stilled, his eyes dead as when Harry had last seen them, and his shoulders slumped; then he said, more subdued, 'I'm glad you're okay. We were worried. I was with Mum … she … she wants to take us home now. They didn't want to let you go. She's yelling at them down the hall … Ginny's with Tonks … Remus is here …'

It seemed like Ron might go on, but Harry pushed himself up further, frowning in concern. 'Tonks?'

Hermione swallowed and looked away. 'She was at the Ministry when —'

'Voldemort,' Ron spat. Hermione and Harry gawked at him; Ron glared down at the floor, his entire body tense. 'I hate him.'

Hermione put a hand on Ron's shoulder and looked up into his eyes. 'Ron …'

'I …' A cold shudder coursed through Ron's body. 'I hate him.'

Harry moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He grabbed Ron's other shoulder tightly in his hand and looked into his pain-filled eyes with determination. Seeing that pain was a relief, in a way; at least Ron didn't look numb, like he had moments before.

'We'll kill him,' Harry promised.

'Together,' whispered Ron, looking from Harry to Hermione and back again. 'We'll kill him together.'

'Harry!' Mrs Weasley called from the doorway. The three separated hastily as Mrs Weasley and two Healers surrounded Harry's bedside. They peppered him with questions, felt his forehead, and peered into his eyes. Harry cooperated, but his eyes kept turning back to Ron, who stood with his back against the wall a few metres away. His eyes were empty again.


	10. Percy's Blame

**A/N: **Sorry I took so long with this chapter; a nasty bout of writer's block along with moving and my part-time job conspired to keep chapter ten in progress for much longer than usual. I'll try to get back onto my usual update schedule as soon as possible. Anyway, please enjoy my latest offering :)

_**Chapter Ten: Percy's Blame**_

It took Harry a while to convince the pair of Healers that he was all right. The difficult bit was that they wanted to know exactly what Harry had experienced in the mindscape Voldemort had planted within Mr Weasley, and there was no power on earth that could convince Harry to divulge those details to anyone but Ron and Hermione. The Healers realized Harry was holding back on them and kept pressing for details; once Harry admitted vaguely, after much cajoling, that he had been the victim of a Legilimency attack, they had rushed off to summon the Healer-in-Charge of Gray Matter Damage, who turned out to be Healer Sina, the same man Harry had met in the Janus Thickey ward when he and the Weasleys had first gone to see Mr Weasley.

Healer Sina didn't push like the other Healers had, but his gentle, soothing approach only annoyed Harry more; he _was_ fine, after all, and he didn't want to be coddled any more than he wanted to be interrogated.

One of his questions did catch Harry off-guard. 'Was there any point in time during which you would say you were not in possession of your sanity?' the Healer queried, his quill poised expectantly over a sheet of parchment floating in the air.

Harry froze. Hermione opened her mouth, but a commanding look from Harry kept her from making a sound. The Healer, however, took all this as positive confirmation. 'It's nothing to be ashamed of,' the Healer assured him calmly, rhythmically scratching notes. Then, as he stood, he concluded, 'However, I would like to keep you overnight for observation to ensure that there are no lasting effects.'

'Of course Harry will stay overnight,' replied Mrs Weasley with less spirit and determination than Harry had ever heard from her. The sentiment was the same, though, and Harry wasn't about to get into an argument with Mrs Weasley on what was likely the worst day of her life. Her eyes were puffy and red, her shoulders slouched, and Harry knew there was nothing he could do to make things right for her or the rest of the Weasleys.

The Healer left after instructing that Harry was not to leave his bed, but that visitors were quite welcome until lights-out, which wouldn't be for some time. Harry could hardly believe it was only mid-afternoon after all that had happened. He needed to talk to Ron and Hermione about what had happened with Voldemort – how he had lost any possible advantage they had possessed by revealing the Prophecy, not to mention that Voldemort probably realized Harry's intention to destroy the Horcruxes – but he certainly couldn't do so with Mrs Weasley in the room. _And Ron probably doesn't really want to talk right now, _Harry thought.

Hermione, with a desperate, sad expression, exclaimed, 'Oh, Harry! We haven't told you what we found out about the attack at the Ministry while you were unconscious!'

Mrs Weasley stood. 'I think I'll go tend to Arthur now … I should keep Tonks company, as well.' She walked slowly out of the room, defeat and despair in her every movement.

Hermione bit her lip and frowned as Mrs Weasley left. 'I hope I didn't drive her away.'

Ron pushed off the wall where he'd been so glumly standing and moved to sit in the chair Mrs Weasley had occupied. 'It's okay, Hermione.' He looked up at Harry. 'We need to tell you everything.'

Moving to stand next to Ron and laying her hand on his shoulder, Hermione began softly, 'Apparently Voldemort was up to a great deal at the Ministry. There was a corpse found on the fifth floor in International Magical Trading Standards Body offices – we haven't heard yet what that's about, I don't think anyone knows at all – and there was some sort of explosion set off in the Auror Office.'

She continued reluctantly, 'They … they mentioned … I heard someone say there were eight Aurors killed. Tonks told us that the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad – Arviragus Dearborn, I think she said – came in, and no one thought anything was wrong, of course, but then he took something out of his pocket and opened it, and then he cast a simple spell on it, and the entire place just … it was just gone in an instant. Arviragus Dearborn must have been under the Imperius Curse, at least that's what everyone thinks, not that they can check now since he's dead.'

'Kingsley was found dead in a bathroom,' Ron added numbly.

'You mentioned Tonks before,' said Harry, dreading the worst. 'Is she all right?' Ron had said Ginny was with her, but what if she was only with her _body_?

Ron and Hermione gave each other a look. 'She … she's the only one who survived, out of all the Aurors who were there at the time,' replied Hermione. 'If it weren't for the fact that she was at the door when it happened, she'd have died, too. She was thrown into the hallway and was pretty badly burned, but she's recovering quickly. A Healer said she'd be let out tomorrow. Ginny and Remus are with her now.'

'I want to go see her.'

'You're supposed to stay in bed!' Ron objected, shooting Harry a fierce glare.

Harry was startled. 'Okay, Ron,' he said soothingly.

Ron looked away, abashed. 'Sorry, I … I'm not myself right now.'

'No one expects you to be,' Hermione assured him. 'Besides, you're right: Harry has to stay in bed.' She raised her eyebrows at Harry, looking as stern as Professor McGonagall. 'Now, what about your experience, Harry? What did you and Voldemort discuss? What did he learn with Legilimency?'

Harry told them everything without reserve. Ron's eyes shone when Harry told them about how he'd tried to attack Voldemort physically, and the corners of his mouth twitched; Harry was glad to see that Ron could still smile. Hermione was surprised to hear about mindscapes, and looked embarrassed that she hadn't blurted out something about it before; she hadn't yet read the book in which Harry had noticed the subject since she and Ron had been busy looking for R.A.B. But she also beamed with pride when Harry told them about how he had seen through Voldemort's odd ploy to get him to cast the Killing Curse. They were both horrified that Voldemort now knew about the Prophecy, but as Hermione said, 'There's nothing to be done about it now, so we'll have to live with it. Don't upset yourself, Harry; Voldemort is an excellent Legilimens, so there's no shame in having lost.'

But Harry _did _feel ashamed. He realized that he couldn't have tried any harder to keep the Prophecy hidden, but he could have tried a great deal harder when he was learning Occlumency in his fifth year. On the other hand, Snape had been teaching him – the thought of Snape made Harry's lip curl in disgust, and Hermione and Ron gave him an odd look – so he probably hadn't been taught properly in the first place.

'I don't understand why Voldemort didn't come to kill me today,' said Harry when his explanation was over. 'Why did he go to the Ministry instead?'

'Let's just count our blessings,' replied Hermione smoothly.

'But it doesn't make sense!' Harry protested. 'He never did say why he didn't come to kill me today, but he obviously thought he could, so why not do it?'

'I think you were right,' said Ron decisively, crossing his arms. 'I think he's a coward. He may _say_ he thinks he can kill you, but we all know how that's worked out for him before. It sounds to me like he's too scared to take you on.'

'We just don't know for sure,' Hermione concluded. 'Ron has a point, but we can't say that's the entire reason Voldemort didn't try to harm you. What did you say he said at the end? Something about a key?'

Harry admitted that he hardly remembered. 'I wasn't exactly well at the time.' He and Hermione looked at anyone but each other, and Ron appeared confused. Ron seemed to be preparing to ask what they were acting so oddly about, but at that moment the door to the room was loudly thrown open.

Walking toward Harry with a remarkably fast limp was a haggard, red-faced, utterly furious Rufus Scrimgeour. 'Out, both of you!' Scrimgeour roared at Ron and Hermione. Hermione, startled, moved back a little to let him through, but Ron merely lifted his chin and glared at Scrimgeour coldly.

'What do _you_ want?' asked Ron before Harry could voice the same query.

'I said _out_!'

Ron didn't budge an inch. 'I don't give a damn what you said. What do you _want_?'

In a calmer voice, Scrimgeour said, 'You will leave voluntarily or you will be made to leave.'

'Just go, Ron,' said Harry tiredly. He held up a hand to quell any objections. 'It's fine. I can handle it.'

Ron pressed his lips together grimly; without another word, he took Harry's wand from the table next to his bed, pressed it insistently into Harry's hand, and walked away, giving Scrimgeour a dirty look as he left and intentionally bumping shoulders with him. Hermione glanced after Ron worriedly and followed him out.

Harry sighed. 'Okay, Scrimgeour, what –'

'Shut your mouth,' interrupted Scrimgeour, moving to stand over Harry's bedside. Harry moved up to a straighter sitting position while Scrimgeour, his hands balled into fists, continued, 'I want to know what you discussed with You-Know-Who. What terms did he give you?'

Harry blinked. 'Terms?'

'What did he _offer _you, boy?' growled Scrimgeour.

He glared in reply. 'Voldemort didn't offer me anything. He wants me dead. Not much room for negotiation there, you know.'

Scrimgeour's face twisted into a sinister sneer. 'So he only went to all this trouble to contact you peacefully in order to discuss the weather, did he?'

'I don't see your point,' replied Harry blandly. As if he would tell Scrimgeour about the Prophecy and the Horcruxes. 'I have no idea why Voldemort does anything. You'll have to go bother him about it.'

Scrimgeour looked like he might pummel Harry at any moment. 'What did you talk about, then?'

'That's none of your business.'

Scrimgeour's large hands grabbed Harry violently by the collar of his robes, dragging him nearly nose to nose with the Minister. 'Listen, you spoilt, selfish little twit,' he growled. Slowly, and with dangerous quietness, he continued, 'We lost over a third of our Auror forces today in one fell swoop. Once the death toll gets out, people will panic. I'm not going to play games with you anymore. You _will_ tell me everything or you _will_ be sent to Azkaban to rot there until you're feeling more cooperative.'

'Yeah, that'd be brilliant,' Harry breathed, 'go ahead and lock up the supposed Chosen One. That'll stop people from panicking.'

The Minister smiled widely, showing his canines. 'Maybe a dose of Veritaserum would be sufficient. I happen to carry some on hand for situations just like these.'

'Minister!' Healer Sina called forcefully from the doorway. The Minister continued to hold on to Harry, glaring murderously at him, until the Healer pried his hands off. 'I cannot allow you to manhandle my patient!'

'This is Ministry business, Healer,' scoffed Scrimgeour. 'Stand aside.'

'What you do with this young man after he checks out tomorrow morning is not my concern,' retorted the Healer, 'but until then, he is under my care, and while your word may be law outside this hospital, Minister, my word is law within it!' The Healer glanced down at Scrimgeour's hand, which was holding a vial of Veritaserum halfway out of his pocket. 'And that is absolutely the last thing he needs!' Healer Sina added angrily. 'Imagine, inflicting Veritaserum on someone who has just suffered a severe Legilimency attack! The world must be going mad! I insist that you leave at once!'

Scrimgeour slid the Veritaserum back into his pocket and turned again to Harry. 'This isn't over, Potter. I'll see you tomorrow. There will be guards posted at the door of this room to make sure you don't leave before I talk to you.'

Harry glared at Scrimgeour's back as he left, slamming the door in his wake. After the Healer followed him out, Harry collapsed back in bed, his head aching. There was no way Harry would stay long enough for Scrimgeour to sink his claws into him again, and it took only a few moments to come up with an obvious escape plan.

'What an arse,' Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they entered shortly after the Healer left.

Hermione looked anxious. 'He's got guards posted outside! You can't possibly tell him about what happened!'

'Of course not,' replied Harry. 'Just … er …' His eyes darted around the room, and he beckoned Hermione closer with his finger. Perplexed, Hermione walked up to Harry's bedside and lowered her head. Harry whispered his plan in her ear; he had a feeling that Scrimgeour would have told the guards to listen in on their conversation to ensure that Harry wasn't plotting his escape. Her eyes widened in comprehension and she nodded.

'Hey!' Ron protested, but before he could say more Hermione rushed over to him and whispered to him what Harry had said. 'Oh. That makes sense.'

Ron and Hermione kept him company intermittently for the rest of the afternoon; Hermione spent a great deal more time with Ginny than with Harry, which Harry didn't begrudge her in the least, while Ron left occasionally to talk to his mum or his siblings. Harry didn't really know what to say to Ron; what had happened to Mr Weasley was, in Harry's opinion, worse than death, although he would never think of saying as much to his suffering best friend. Ron seemed to want to talk about impersonal details of the attack at the Ministry, and then about more inconsequential things once that topic had been run into the ground, and Harry wouldn't have pushed Ron into talking about it even if he had possessed the slightest idea as to what to say. Hermione tried to get Ron to open up a few times but was brushed off, and Harry couldn't help but think that girls were just too talkative about their feelings to understand when _not_ to talk about them.

Ginny visited Harry once as well, when Ron was off elsewhere and Hermione was with Mrs Weasley. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and there was something about her that seemed more diminutive than usual, as if she had been shrunken by sorrow. Harry, despite a growing migraine and some dizziness, had determinedly extracted himself from his hospital bed and walked over to her. Once he was in front of her, however, he felt just as clueless as he had with Ron. _Should I hug her?_ Harry wondered. She had probably been hugged by a dozen different people by that point; what difference would one more hug make? But then she did the work for him and put her arms around him, sobbing quietly into his shoulder. Harry just held her for a while; no words were exchanged between them before she left aside from Ginny asking if he was okay and Harry nodding in reply. He thought it would be rather stupid to ask if _she_ was okay.

Harry was exhausted by the time Remus tore himself away from Tonks' bedside to see him. It was only a few minutes before the end of visiting hours; the combination of lack of sleep and his terrible, gruelling birthday had left Harry almost glad that he was to be alone soon. He must have looked as tired as he felt if the shifting look on Remus' face, from friendly to concerned, was any indication.

'The Healer did say you would be fine, I hope?'

Harry smiled weakly, his eyes drooping. 'Yeah. How's Tonks?'

'Don't worry about her. She's a tough woman. Rest up as much as you can tonight. Tomorrow will be hectic.' Leaning closer, Remus said in a whisper, 'Ron and Hermione told me about your plan to escape tomorrow. I'll see you soon after. If it doesn't work, we'll find some way to free you from the Ministry's control, so don't _worry_.'

_Don't worry_ became the general theme of their discussion before long, and Harry appreciated the sentiment, although he was too exhausted to muster the strength to worry anyway. Remus was just saying his goodbyes after having been prodded about the end of visiting hours by a mediwitch when the door was thrown open yet again. Harry dreaded another visit by Scrimgeour, but as it happened, the intruder was someone completely unexpected.

It was Percy. He looked in many ways similar to how Scrimgeour had when he had accosted Harry earlier in the day, but where Scrimgeour had bellowed, Percy's rage was of a quieter variety. 'I'd like to speak with Harry privately,' he said in a clipped tone.

'Visiting hours are over,' Remus replied, standing up. 'I was just leaving.'

Percy didn't reply, but rather waited for Remus to get to the door. Remus, however, simply stood by his chair, apparently waiting for Percy to leave. 'You said you were leaving,' said Percy coldly after a few moments.

'I am, but I'm certainly not leaving you alone with Harry.'

Percy's face took on a vicious look. 'I'm not allowed to speak with the person responsible for my father being a vegetable?'

Remus, in a sharply raised voice, said, 'You may very well do that if you can find him, but you won't find You-Know-Who in St Mungo's!'

This triggered an explosion from Percy the likes of which Harry had never witnessed from him. 'I wasn't talking about You-Know-Who and you know it! If _he_ –' Percy gestured rudely over to Harry. '– wasn't always associating with my family, making trouble for us, You-Know-Who would never have bothered a man like my father! He wasn't anything! Why would You-Know-Who care about _Arthur Weasley_ if the family weren't such good _friends_ with Harry Potter!'

'If you think your father wasn't – _isn't_ – anything, you're completely mistaken,' said Remus. He was calmer, as though moved to pity instead of enmity by Percy's angry ranting. 'Your father was – is – a great man. I'm sorry you can't see it. He would have given anything for the cause –'

'The _cause!_' Percy interrupted, full of disgust. 'And what was a low-level Ministry employee supposed to do for the cause? If you people really wanted to stop Voldemort you would be working with the Ministry instead of against it! Potter has been offered _everything_ – protection, Auror training – but he's turned it all down because it offends his pride! My father didn't die for the cause; he died for Harry Potter's ego!'

Harry stared open-mouthed at Percy as Remus, who had begun heading Percy off before his speech was done, bodily pushed the man out the door. He had known before that Percy wasn't overly fond of him, but Harry hadn't had any idea that Percy hated him so much. Remus managed to get both himself and Percy out the door and Harry was left sitting alone in the darkening room, his previously tired mind abuzz with contemplation.

Was it all ego, as Percy had claimed? Was it really his, Harry's, fault? He couldn't work with the Ministry; Scrimgeour would try to keep Harry under his thumb, and Harry didn't have time to waste on playing political games.

More importantly, there was no job for the Ministry to do. The task of finding the Horcruxes couldn't be done by a large, plodding bureaucracy. Even one spy in the Ministry could turn the entire search upside down; Voldemort would discover that they knew where one of the Horcruxes was and would send Death Eaters to guard it or would move it before they could claim it.

No, the Ministry couldn't be of help. Harry knew he was right about that. But Percy's other charges still niggled; after all, Voldemort himself had said that Snape had recommended Mr Weasley as the best candidate to lead Harry into Voldemort's mental trap, and Snape wouldn't have done that if he hadn't known how friendly Harry was with the Weasley family. Yes, Harry had saved Mr Weasley from death when he had been attacked by the snake outside the Department of Mysteries, but that didn't excuse being the cause of an even worse fate, did it?

Harry eventually got to sleep, but his dreams were troubled.

* * *

At the crack of dawn the next morning, Hermione and Ron went to Harry's room to visit him, as they had planned. Hermione pulled Harry's Invisibility Cloak out of her rucksack and handed it to him. 'Right, let's get out of here,' said Harry, who had been awake and waiting for them for hours. 

They waited a few minutes so that the visit wouldn't look suspicious, and then Hermione, Harry, and Ron walked to the door in a line with Harry between them. They made sure they were spaced far enough apart so that Ron wouldn't step on Harry's Invisibility Cloak and reveal him, but that they were also close enough so that it still looked like Hermione and Ron were walking together. Once they had passed the doorway and the suspicious glances of Scrimgeour's guards, they moved to walk side by side, only occasionally manoeuvring to avoid a passing Healer or mediwitch.

By the time the guards got up the nerve to check Harry a few minutes after he and his friends had left, it was too late; Harry, Ron, and Hermione heard feet scuffling and shouts coming from somewhere far off in the hospital moving their way, but only when they were already just a few feet away from the exit.

They stopped only briefly at the Burrow; it was completely unoccupied. 'We're, er, heading to Grimmauld Place, Harry,' said Ron uncomfortably. 'I guess we should have mentioned it to you yesterday, but the Order says we're all to stay there from now on, and Hermione figured you'd be upset if we told you … all our stuff has already been moved over there …'

'I'm not upset,' promised Harry. He realized their safety was more important than any misgivings he might have about his godfather's old house. 'We couldn't stay here anyway. This is the first place Scrimgeour will come to look for me. He'll never find us at Grimmauld Place.'

So to Grimmauld Place they went. Upon entering the house, Harry found it much as he remembered it, old Mrs Black's shrieking portrait and all. 'They _still_ haven't gotten rid of her?' shouted Hermione over the din.

Remus rushed toward them and Harry helped him pull the curtain over the portrait shut. 'It's good to see you looking better, Harry,' said Remus with a kind smile.

'Hello, Harry,' called someone from the stairs.

Harry wasn't at all expecting to see the person greeting him. '_Luna?_' he said in disbelief. Ron's eyes bugged out, and Hermione cringed; she had never gotten on well with Luna Lovegood. Before anything more could be said, Remus signalled for them all to be quiet and led them out of the hall.

Luna looked as mad as ever in her choice of dress, but her face held its usual serenity. 'I can tell you're all surprised to see me, but You-Know-Who wants us all dead, you know,' she said matter-of-factly. 'Neville is still unpacking upstairs. I hardly brought anything with me.' She looked over Harry's shoulder at Remus. 'Where is my father going to go, Professor Lupin?'

Remus was clearly startled by the question. 'I don't know, Luna. But please, stop calling me "Professor Lupin"; I'm no longer a Hogwarts professor.'

'You are on the inside,' she beamed. 'You're a very good professor, too – my very favourite.'

Remus blushed.

'Why didn't your dad come?' Harry asked.

'He has to print _The Quibbler_,' explained Luna. 'The necessary facilities for printing aren't here.'

'That's silly!' an angry Hermione exclaimed. 'He could be killed over that … that silly …' Ron nudged her and gave her a look, and Hermione fell silent.

Luna, without warmth, replied, 'It's very important to him.'

'Well,' said Lupin curtly, trying to break the tension, 'Luna is going to be staying here until term starts at whichever wizarding school she's sent to.'

'I hope I get to go to Durmstrang.' Luna's face looked dreamy again. 'The Three-Snouted Grouyak lives there. I could take a picture and send it to my father, and it would probably make the front page, unless something important about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack were sent in, of course.'

'How … nice,' said Hermione stiffly.

Once Neville joined them, it felt to Harry like a reunion of sorts of the DA, which lifted his spirits greatly. Much as he enjoyed Ron and Hermione's company, Harry's awkwardness with Ron was now so mixed with guilt about Percy's accusations that he wasn't sure why Ron even wanted to be near him. Luna's comments served to distract Hermione from her smothering of Ron, and made Ron perk up on occasion to rein Hermione in. Neville, meanwhile, seemed to be having genuine fun despite the supposed threat to his life, and seeing enthusiasm after all the trauma of the previous day was calming to Harry. Neville's grandmother was apparently going into hiding on the continent and had agreed to leave Neville under the Order's protection in England until the start of term, noting that he ought to "be of some use" to Harry Potter while he was there. When Neville repeated this information, he looked up at Harry so hopefully, so clearly dying to be as involved as he had been when they had been in the DA together, that Harry was determined to _find_ a way for Neville to be useful. He had no intention of bringing Neville along to find the Horcruxes, but with the Order short so many members, Harry thought that surely Neville could be of help in some other way.

It wasn't until a few hours later that Ginny trudged down the stairs to join them. She sat beside Ron and didn't say a word; when Mrs Weasley came in to offer breakfast, she stayed in the drawing room while the others went to eat, saying she wasn't hungry. Even Mrs Weasley didn't seem inclined to argue with her.

The camaraderie of the early morning was broken by watching the Weasleys come and go during breakfast and the rest of the day. It was as though they were preparing for a funeral: Bill said some Ministry officials needed to talk to her about Mr Weasley's pension provisions, and she nearly burst into tears on the spot; Charlie arrived, white as a ghost, after seeing his father in the hospital for the first time, and kept asking questions about what they were going to do that neither Bill nor Mrs Weasley could answer; Ron and Ginny spent much of the day together in dead silence, Hermione trying hopelessly to be of some help to them. Hermione eventually went off to the bathroom for a long while, and Harry heard her sobbing as he passed by. Guilt suffused him. When he happened upon an open door late in the afternoon and found Ginny crying in Luna's arms, he could take it no longer, and shut himself up in his old room at Grimmauld Place to unpack his belongings.

As soon as he walked in the door, Phineas Nigellus Black greeted him. 'Ah, Mr Potter!' he cried in bizarre delight. 'It is an honour to see you again!'

Harry frowned sceptically. 'What're you being so polite for? You can't stand me!'

Phineas looked pained for a brief moment before regaining his composure. 'What do you mean I can't stand you?' he chuckled. 'Why, I like you quite well, quite well indeed!'

'Okay,' said Harry, not convinced in the slightest, but not really caring about the painting's sudden change of heart.

As Harry proceeded to throw the contents of his trunk about the room, putting clothes in the wardrobe and setting some particular items about the room – he had the distinct, unhappy feeling that Grimmauld Place would be his permanent residence for much longer than he'd like, so he supposed he'd best make himself at home – Phineas continued to harass him eagerly. 'Really, all those other times we met, we had our differences, didn't we? But there was mutual respect, wasn't there, yes, mutual respect –'

'You don't respect me,' said Harry blandly. 'What are you after?'

'Nothing at all!' the portrait said hastily. 'Er … well … only –'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Just say it.'

'I was, er, rather hoping that you would, er, allow me to continue to inhabit this delightful abode of yours.' Phineas' nails dug deep into his armchair, the cost of this request to his pride made clear.

Harry stared. 'You're being nice to me because you don't want me to trash you?'

'Well, this is the only portrait I have outside of Hogwarts!'

Waving his hand, Harry said, 'Don't worry, I won't chuck you out. Dumbledore didn't want you thrown out, did he? Then again,' said Harry, deciding to let Phineas stew just a _little_ longer, 'you aren't useful anymore, are you? After all, Hogwarts is closed this year, so you can't pass messages back and forth.'

Phineas' lips tightened, and the muscles of his neck contorted, as though he were physically forcing himself not to express his indignation.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I'm only joking. You can stay as long as you're not _too_ much of an arse.'

After Phineas had expressed his gratitude with as much effluence as a proud pureblood could sink to, Harry finished unpacking everything he intended to unpack and lay back on his bed, trying to block out all the noise and _relax_.

Then a knock sounded on the door. Harry looked up at the ceiling. 'Come in,' he said, a little rudely.

The door opened with a creak; Harry looked round when it was halfway open and saw Ron standing in the doorway, trepid. He sat up immediately; he had forgotten that this was Ron's room too. 'Come in,' Harry said.

'Um, would it be okay if I still shared this room with you? I mean, you own the place, so you don't have to …'

'Of course!'

Ron looked relieved. 'Mrs Black's room still smells like Buckbeak,' he said as he dragged his trunk in. He set his trunk down once it was in the room, shut the door, and went to sit on his own bed, directly opposite Harry. Then he stared at the wall. 'Remus told me what Percy said to you yesterday.'

Harry, too, looked away. 'Yeah?'

'I think he only told you because he wants me to tell you that it's all rubbish, but I told him you couldn't possibly be so daft as to listen to Percy about anything.' Ron's forceful tone belied his words, however, and Harry flushed. 'After all, you know Percy is a stupid idiot, and that I've never agreed with him on anything.'

'Ron, don't,' said Harry, deeply affected. 'Today isn't about me.'

'Every day is about you,' Ron said without a trace of bitterness. 'If you get all tied up in useless guilt, how are we going to find the Horcruxes? And I … ' Ron swallowed. 'If I get tied up in … about my dad, I won't be able to help, so we'll both just have to stop feeling angry and guilty and stop making Hermione cry and stop moping with Ginny.'

Harry looked up, smiling sadly. 'When did you get all smart about this emotional stuff?'

Ron pursed his lips. 'I've been thinking.' He stopped, as though unsure what to say, but then continued, 'Anyway, I'm not really smart about it; I'm just pretending to be. I just figure it's what Hermione will say eventually, so I might as well beat her to it for once.' Ron stood up. 'I'm going to unpack. You should ask Remus to set a date for our training before he heads off to pick up Tonks.'

Harry nodded. As he opened the door, he looked back at Ron, who was focused on his trunk to the exclusion of everything else. He'd never felt so proud of his friend before, or so thankful. With the beginnings of contentment stirring again in his heart, Harry quietly shut the door and took the first few steps away from his bad memories.


	11. Kitty York

**A/N:**Sorry for the long wait! I've had a hectic summer, I'm afraid, and a few minor health issues (both for me and my PC) haven't helped matters. I'm really hoping to start normalizing my update schedule again very soon. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter; it certainly took long enough!******_  
_**

**_Chapter Eleven: Kitty York_**

Harry found Remus in the basement kitchen staring at the clock on the wall. He turned at the sound of Harry's footsteps on the stone. 'Harry,' Remus greeted him, smiling a little too much. 'Decided to hide with me down here, have you?'

'Er, sort of,' replied Harry. 'I was wondering when you wanted to start training. Not today, but soon?'

Remus nodded. 'I was thinking some time next week. I'll see when Moody is free.' His eyes twitched back toward the clock. 'I suppose it isn't too early to pick up Tonks.'

Harry could relate to Remus' desire to leave the house. He noticed movement near the wall behind Remus; a glance behind Remus' shoulder revealed that Charlie's hand on the Weasley family clock had switched to 'travelling'. Harry noted sadly that Mrs Weasley hadn't taken long in moving the clock to Grimmauld Place – but at least she wasn't carrying it around with her.

Then he noticed a piece of parchment pinned up beside the clock; Harry couldn't remember it being there before. 'What's that?' he asked as he stepped around Remus. He glared as he recognized it. 'Who put _that_ up there?' said Harry, anger boiling to the surface as he tore the parchment off the wall.

'Mrs Weasley put it up,' said Remus mildly. 'She thinks it would be a good idea to keep that bit of parchment around, and I agree with her.'

'Why?' demanded Harry, waving the parchment. It was the list of names Voldemort had drawn up; Harry's eyes fixed onto those that were already crossed out. 'So we can all come down here and stare at it, waiting for another person to be declared dead?'

'The enchantment upon it may prove useful to us. At least we'll know when one of our comrades is dead, so we won't waste resources trying to rescue someone who is beyond rescue.'

Harry set the parchment down on the countertop and glared. 'That's cold, Remus.'

'I don't know how Dumbledore did it,' Remus said by way of agreeing with Harry's sentiment, and Harry was slightly relieved, 'but I know he would have kept it. We've been given an advantage by the enemy, however small the advantage is. I can't throw that away for sentimental reasons. I owe more to the dead – and to the living – than that.'

'I hardly come down here at all, anyway,' mumbled Harry. He would be sure to come down even less now.

After Remus had left, Harry found himself awkwardly alone again. With little else to do, he wandered the house and tried to stay out of everyone's way.

Ron caught up with him in the living room; Harry was surprised to see that he was carrying several gifts. 'We almost forgot about these,' said Ron. 'I found him!'

Shortly after, Hermione, then Neville, then Luna trailed into the room. 'This isn't necessary,' said Harry, truly wanting to leave his birthday forgotten behind him.

'We've already bought the presents,' said Hermione sensibly. 'There's no point in leaving them wrapped. Besides, we could all use a pick-me-up today. Remus left his here; it's the one on top, in the red wrapping.'

Opening presents was a good distraction for a while. Afterwards Hermione swooped up one of the books and curled into an armchair, Neville and Luna investigated Fred and George's gifts (from their own shop, of course), and Ron challenged Harry to a game of wizard chess.

* * *

The next day, to no one's surprise, Hermione snapped up the morning newspaper as soon as the owl arrived with it. Even as she looked hurriedly through the first few pages, she rattled off, 'We need to know if Harry's wanted by the Ministry or not. Scrimgeour might not have been making an empty threat. And they might have some explanation about Voldemort's attack, but probably not since the Ministry won't want to release any details that makes itself look less competent, but really, they _should_ know that it's even more frightening _not_ to know how it happened.' 

Some moments later, Hermione looked up smugly and said, 'It looks as though Scrimgeour's not pressing the point – for now, anyway. I suppose it would worry people if Harry were arrested, and the Ministry has enough panic to assuage already.

'Oh, and there _are_ some details about the attack on the Ministry; it looks as though Voldemort killed someone on the fifth floor and another two people on the fourth floor, and then somehow got the head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad to destroy the Auror Office – they're speculating that it was Imperius.'

'Why did he kill those other people?' asked Ron. Harry nodded by way of seconding the question.

'It doesn't say,' replied Hermione, her lips pursed. 'But the one on the fifth floor was Facinus Bork, who worked in Shipping and Inspection for the International Magical Trading Standards Body, and the other two worked in the Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. None of them seem to have been important; they were just regular Ministry workers with no connection at all to the Aurors or to the Order of the Phoenix.'

'We should investigate them. It doesn't make sense for Voldemort to have gone after them. There has to be something more to it,' said Harry.

'_We_ have no business looking into it at all,' said Hermione, folding the paper up neatly.

'Why not?' asked Ron.

'Because we can't solve every mystery at once and we've got quite enough on our plates as it is. I'm sure the Order will put someone on it.'

Neville asked awkwardly, 'So what are we doing?'

Ron cringed. 'Er, well, it's not so much you as the three of us. Not that you can't help,' he added hurriedly, but it did little to brighten Neville's crestfallen look, 'but you can help with other things…like, um –'

'We ought to leave that up to the Order,' Hermione piped in. 'Next time Remus comes around you can ask him how to make yourself useful. We don't run things, you see, and we're not authorized to share the details of our mission with you. It's nothing personal.'

Harry looked at Hermione askance, not entirely happy with the implicit lie that they were on an Order-sanctioned mission. But Hermione wasn't even looking in Harry's direction, and he didn't think it was worth arguing about, so he was fine with dropping it when Ron tugged on his sleeve.

'Remember how we were going to take our Apparition Test soon?'

'Er, yeah,' Harry replied.

'Maybe we could do it tomorrow? I mean, if we're not busy –'

'You're taking the Apparition Test?' said Neville, inserting himself enthusiastically into the conversation. 'Are you ready for it? I've been practicing the wand movements all month! Even Gran thinks I'll pass! Well, maybe not on my first try, but she says I should manage to scrape a pass some time before the next school year!'

'All month?' said Ron faintly. 'I haven't practiced at all! Harry!' he turned toward his best friend anxiously. 'You'll help me today, right? We've got to work out Apparition or else Hermione'll be spending the rest of her life shuttling us around!'

'I certainly will not,' said Hermione, crossing her arms. 'But I'll help you both practice today if you like.'

'And me too?' asked Neville.

Hermione smiled at him. 'Of course. But none of you ought to feel ashamed if you don't pass it your first time,' she added, as though she would be very cross with them if they _were_ ashamed.

'It's my second time,' whined Ron.

'You almost passed last time,' Hermione reminded him. 'Don't be so negative.'

'Where's Luna?' Ron asked to change the subject, looking as though he wasn't taking Hermione's advice on negativity very seriously.

'Still in bed,' said Hermione. 'She was stargazing last night looking for some…something.' At first Hermione was stiff, but then, as though realizing that Luna really wasn't there, she rolled her eyes and shook her head as though she had been waiting to do so for hours.

They found a fairly large and utterly deserted room in Grimmauld Place to practice in and were not disturbed except for the occasional request by one of the Weasleys to talk to Ron. Ron always came back from these sessions looking pale and grim, but he also took his Apparition training very seriously for at least fifteen minutes afterwards until he became discouraged again.

It seemed as though Neville really had been practicing; he and Hermione together spent the first hour or so getting Harry and Ron back up to speed on the basics. But only Hermione had Apparated successfully out of controlled conditions before, and her practical advice was the most helpful. None of them actually tried to Apparate, since it wasn't technically legal without a certified instructor and they didn't know how to fix an accidental Splinching, but Harry could still feel that he was doing it right – and in fact ended up Apparating across the room accidentally, to Ron's clear dismay.

They took a breather from their crash course for lunch and were surprised by how quiet the house was. 'Everyone left,' said Luna, coming out from behind them as she descended the stairs. Talking to Ron, she said, 'Your two twin brothers said they were reopening the shop this afternoon, and Mrs Weasley went down to the Ministry to discuss Mr Weasley's pension. I don't know where everyone else went, but they're gone.'

'Thanks,' said Ron. 'I guess we'll go help ourselves in the kitchen. Want to come?'

Luna smiled brightly and followed along. When they went back to Apparition they took Luna with them; Harry, having an idea, cajoled Ron into showing Luna a few things about Apparition. He figured that it might help Ron learn if he were to teach what he knew to someone else, and indeed, Ron's spirits picked up, and he started doing far better with his own practicing. Hermione, who was becoming frustrated with Ron's mood, also became a better teacher.

Then the door opened without so much as a knock, and Ginny, her face blank, announced, 'Tonks is here,' and shut the door behind her. They followed her path into the living room, where Remus and Tonks were seated together on the couch. Harry was relieved to see that Tonks looked completely healed, though she was paler than usual. Her long, black hair and sunken, tired eyes made her presence smaller and quieter than usual.

'What are you lot moping around about?' said Tonks. She smiled, and Harry smiled back, happy to see that she was feeling better than she looked, though he wondered how much of it was for show.

'How are you feeling?' asked Hermione, her tone heartfelt. 'You look so much better than you did in St Mungo's.'

'The doctors say she'll be completely recovered in a few days,' said Remus, his hands holding hers in her lap.

'And I'll be staying at my mum's house until then,' she said firmly, as though she and Remus had quarrelled about it.

'You said you would stay here for dinner and see if you felt up to going there afterwards,' replied Remus calmly.

'I _will_,' she assured him. 'How have you all been? I heard you were in the hospital, too, Harry. I hope everything is all right now?'

'Er, yeah,' said Harry, not wanting to discuss it. 'We're going to get our Apparition licenses tomorrow – me, Ron, and Neville.'

'That's great,' she said sincerely. 'I'm sure you'll all do fine.' Neville stood up straighter at the compliment. 'We should tell them what you found out, Remus.'

'Later,' Remus said. 'I'm going to go help Molly with the cooking. Will you stay with her?' he asked the room at large.

'Of course,' said Hermione.

'I refuse to be any trouble, and I don't need to be watched at every moment.'

'We're not watching you; we're keeping you company,' said Hermione sternly, taking Remus' spot as he vacated it, Ginny moving to Tonks' other side.

'Thanks,' said Tonks kindly. 'It's been a rough few days.'

She looked over to Ginny, whose smile did not reach her eyes. 'Yes,' Ginny said quietly. 'We've just got to take everything one day at a time.'

* * *

During dinner Remus mentioned to Harry that he and Moody were free to start Harry's extra lessons in two days, and afterwards told them what the Order's sources had managed to find out about Voldemort's attack that the newspapers hadn't mentioned. The Auror Office had been destroyed by an explosive, not by a spell. The explosive used was believed to be a rare powder from Nepal. 

Since the substance was strongly reactive to magic, it was too dangerous to be transported through Apparition or through the Floo, so it was believed likely that he had acquired it from _within_ the Ministry building. This, believed Moody and the others in the Order who were investigating the incident, had been acquired from the dead fellow who worked for the International Magical Trading Standards Body, who had happened to have a fairly thick criminal record under the name Rex, but who had been impossible to fire because of his uncle's high position in the department.

But the reason for the targeting of the two Being Division employees was still inscrutable. 'Their supervisor couldn't say much about what they were up to except that they had been meeting with the Unspeakables in the month leading up to their deaths. If this has something to do with them, we'll probably never know.'

'But how would Voldemort know then?' asked Hermione. 'Unless he has a spy.'

Remus sighed. 'It wouldn't be the first time. It's an easy place to put a spy; their actions are never scrutinized. But I hear that Scrimgeour is aware of the possibility and has been investigating it personally. Whatever else one can say about the man, he did head the Auror Office, and he was highly efficient at his job there. I suppose he probably knew many of the victims of the attack personally; perhaps that will serve as extra motivation.'

Harry stared down at his plate, feeling a twinge of guilt about how he'd treated Scrimgeour when they had met in St. Mungo's. After all, if the man had been grieving about lost friends…well, Harry couldn't fault him for having been on the offensive in that case. _But he accused me of being in league with Voldemort, _Harry reminded himself. _And he seemed more concerned with public opinion than with the lives of those in his old department._

Any trace of guilt was buried.

* * *

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione left for the Apparition Testing Centre in London in the early morning. Harry was very confident, as he had Apparated before, and had even Apparated Dumbledore with him on that awful night, but Neville's confidence from the day before had crumbled, and he walked the rest of the way to the exam with his eyes fixed on the sidewalk, biting his lip. Ron was a little less obvious about his discomfort, but Harry could tell from his fidgeting and mumbling of material from the Ministry Apparition pamphlet that he was nervous also. 

Harry was uncomfortable for another reason. Before they had left, Hermione had made the insightful observation that it might not be a good idea for Harry to be wandering around out in the open, even if it was just for a couple blocks. Harry really hadn't want to go so far as a Disillusionment Charm, and had pointed out that Remus hadn't raised any such objection when they had told him of their intention to take the Apparition Test that day.

Hermione wasn't too happy that Harry was telling her she was paranoid and had almost refused to take them to the test. So they had compromised, and Harry was wearing a heavy woollen cloak as a result, with the hood up to hide his face. Even though it was morning, it was starting out as a very hot day, and Harry was sweltering. Harry thought it was much more eye-catching to be walking around in a winter cloak than to be walking around as himself, and he'd told Hermione as much, but she'd just replied that he still didn't realize _who_ he was.

As a result, none of them were in the best of spirits when they reached the Test Centre. To show Ron her confidence, Hermione left, saying that she was entirely sure that they could all make it back to Grimmauld Place without her. 'I guess you'll have to be our transportation, Harry,' Ron said bitterly after she left. 'You'll pass for sure.'

'Don't think that way,' Harry replied, unhooking his winter cloak as quickly as he could now that Hermione wasn't around to argue. 'You'll do fine. Buck up.' Harry wondered idly if it would be illegal for Ron and Neville to take Felix Felicis before their exams…

'Take these,' the old wizard at the front desk said without looking at them, focused on adjusting the time on a large pocket watch. He tapped firmly on a pile of registration papers.

Each of the boys took a sheet to fill out and grabbed a Self-Inking Quill. The office was small, but there were enough chairs for all of them, so they sat down and filled out the application. There was nothing very complicated required: name, address (Harry put the Dursleys'), gender, age…

When they were done, they went back up to the front desk. The man there was no longer distracted from them, having fixed his pocket watch, and cheerfully took their papers. He held a monocle up to one eye as he read the names. 'All right, we'll take you first, Mr Longbottom, then you, Mr Weasley, and then Mr…' The man trailed off; he was having trouble flipping the page. Disgruntled, he put his monocle down, pulled out Harry's application violently, and put his monocle back on. 'Mr…'

The man frowned, put down the application, and scrubbed his monocle with the hem of his shirt. Then he put it back on, and frowned even deeper as he looked at the application again. 'Mr Potter? _Harry_ Potter?'

Harry's face went red; everyone else in the office was looking his way. 'Yes, sir.'

The man lifted his head and stared owlishly at Harry. 'You're here to apply for your Apparition License?' he said in disbelief.

'Yes, sir,' said Harry again.

The man smiled. 'Well, Mr Potter, I don't think you and your friends will really need to go through the formality of testing. It's not as though I could fail you, could I!' He chuckled and pulled some papers out from his desk as Harry stammered, Ron gaped, and Neville looked as though Christmas had come early.

'Here you go,' the man said, pressing a large stamp into the right-hand corner of three pieces of parchment and filing them away. 'That takes care of that. Now, you boys go on and…and…well!' He stood up at full attention and saluted.

Harry stared at him blankly until Ron tugged on his arm. 'Let's go,' he said, grinning. 'Quick, before he changes his mind!'

Still feeling shell-shocked as he was walked out by his two giddy friends, Harry forgot to put on his cloak and garnered a few stares from observant passers-by as he was dragged up the lane. 'That was brilliant!' said Neville. 'I can't believe we're all allowed to Apparate, just like that!'

'Butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks for all of us, on me! We can _Apparate_ there now!' said Ron, striding so quickly that Harry could hardly keep up with his longer-legged friend without running. They moved fluidly through the trickle of passers-by until they noticed a small space between two buildings. The three gathered between them, and Ron said sheepishly, 'Er, Harry, I don't suppose _you_ could do the Apparating, could you?...'

'Er, yeah, that would be great,' Neville agreed.

* * *

Harry was resigned by the time they reached the Three Broomsticks. After all, he really _did_ need an Apparition license, and he could have passed it even if he'd had to take the test. Ron and Neville might have been a different story, but Harry supposed that Splinching must be curable… 

They each sat on a stool at the bar and Ron ordered the Butterbeer. 'Fantastic,' Ron murmured as they waited for Rosmerta to return. 'Bloody fantastic. You're a great friend, Harry.'

'Thanks,' replied Harry sarcastically. Rosmerta returned with their drinks, and Harry swallowed a mouthful right off the bat. 'That hits the spot.' Ron couldn't reply; he was busy chugging down his drink. Neville nodded, sipping appreciatively.

Someone tapped Harry shoulder and he yelped in surprise. He craned his head around, his hand buried in his pocket and closed around his wand, and saw a woman that he vaguely remembered from the Apparition Testing Centre. She was wearing a black headscarf and large black sunglasses, and he thought she was smiling, but it was hard to tell whether it was sincere without being able to see her eyes.

'Here,' she said, setting down a small, folded piece of paper on the bar. Her voice was deep for a woman's and full-toned. Without another word, she turned away and walked quickly out of the bar.

'Don't touch it, Harry,' said Ron. 'It might be something dangerous.'

'I'll do it,' volunteered Neville. 'I'm expendable.' Before Ron or Harry could protest, Neville had snatched up the note and was unfolding it.

'"Meet me at Godric's Hollow in three days. Come alone. Don't contact the Ministry." And it's signed "Kitty York".'

'Never heard of her,' said Harry.

'If she wants an autograph she'll have to wait in line with everyone else,' said Ron sternly. 'You know this is probably from—'

'Voldemort. Yeah,' Harry agreed, 'that's what I thought at first, but isn't this a little…cryptic for him? He could walk right in here and challenge me if he wanted to. Dumbledore's not around anymore; he doesn't need to hide. He proved that.' Harry took the note from Neville and stared at it. The text was wide, loopy, and hard to read in places. 'I don't know. I don't think it's him. It doesn't fit.'

'Maybe he just wants to get you alone,' suggested Neville. 'I agree with Ron; you can't go.'

Ron smirked. 'Oh, Harry's not stupid, he's not thinking of going…' Then he saw the expression on Harry's face, and his smirk vanished. 'Harry, you really _aren't _thinking of going, are you?'

Harry stared back at him, determined. 'I want to find out who Kitty York is. We can ask the Order.'

Ron and Neville both slid off their chairs, clearly intending to do just that right away, but they paused and waited for Harry, who didn't move, but instead looked seriously at both of them. 'Neither of you can tell anyone about this,' said Harry.

'I don't take orders from you,' replied Ron immediately. 'Okay, I do sometimes, but I don't see why we shouldn't at least tell Hermione.'

'Because she wouldn't let me go.'

'That's the point of telling her, isn't it? It would be stupid to go.'

'I'm not set on going,' said Harry hastily, trying to reassure his friend. 'We should find out who Kitty York is before I make any decision either way.'

* * *

'Kitty York? Never heard of her,' said Mrs Weasley as she scrubbed the floor by hand, probably to keep her mind off recent events. 'Why do you ask?' 

'I read her name in the paper, Mum,' Ron replied, shuffling uncomfortably.

* * *

'Kitty who? York? No, I don't know her. Haven't ever heard a thing about her.' Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'What do you need to know for?' 

'Er, she's…a friend of Gran's, she is. I thought you might have heard of her. I know she did something important, but I just can't put my finger on it,' said Neville breathily, his chest constricting. 'Thanks…thanks anyway, Hermione…'

'Sure, Neville,' replied Hermione, sinking back into a book on famous European wizards and witches, having decided that R.A.B. must be foreign.

* * *

'York? No,' said George, weary and distracted.

* * *

'I don't believe so. Excuse me, Harry,' said Ginny, leaving the room.

* * *

'No,' said Tonks, frowning at the question. 'Why?' 

Harry made up an excuse not to answer and left the room. He took the refusal as a good sign, though; if Tonks hadn't heard of Kitty York, at least she probably wasn't a wanted Death Eater. _But who_ is _she?_ he wondered.

* * *

'Kitty York?' said Remus, his expression thoughtful. 'I vaguely recall her. Why do you ask?' 

'What do you know about her?' asked Harry, hoping he didn't sound too desperate.

'I think she was a girl at Hogwarts. She wasn't in my year, though. Yes, I remember now!' Remus' eyes lit up, and a small, nostalgic smile spread over his face. 'She was the Quidditch commentator for a few years, and she was quite good at it if I recall correctly. Her first time was the legendary Gryffindor versus Slytherin match in which your father scored one hundred points. He never let any of us forget it.'

'Really? That's great!...Er, do you know anything else about her?' Harry would have preferred to hear more about his father's Quidditch career, but…

'She was a Ravenclaw. A half-blood, I think. She was a year ahead of your father and me in school. I probably didn't exchange more than a half-dozen words with her in all my time there.'

Harry frowned. 'But you still know her blood status even though you hardly talked to her?'

Remus tilted his head wryly to the side, looking at Harry as though proud that he had picked up that detail. 'I recall some of the pure-bloods putting up a fight about her becoming commentator,' he explained. 'They were pushing for one of their own. All the important positions in the school were about blood to some extent in those days – Prefects, Head Boy and Girl, Quidditch Captains…until my father's day being a pure-blood was oftentimes a requirement, with few exceptions, just like in government. There still hasn't been a Minister for Magic who isn't a pure-blood…and it was especially bad in my time, with Voldemort stirring up trouble.'

'So she wasn't the sort to make trouble, then? Trouble of the blood purity sort, I mean.'

'I don't think so – but as I said, I didn't know her very well…is there a reason that you're curious about someone I haven't seen or heard of in decades?'

'Er, nothing, really. I heard she was, um, a friend of my mum's, that's all,' Harry lied. If Remus knew she wasn't, Harry could always shrug and say he'd been misinformed.

'I wouldn't know about that,' replied Remus, sounding guilty. 'I'm sorry to say that I didn't know your mum that well – certainly not well enough to know who she spent her time with, aside from James. Your father was enthralled with Lily, so I ended up hearing things about her secondhand, but she and I didn't talk often. She had her own friends to spend time with, and James had us.'

Kindly, he added, 'If you're interested in knowing more about your mother, maybe you ought to talk to this Kitty York. If she was your mother's friend, she could tell you a great deal more about her than I ever could.'

'Thanks,' said Harry. 'I think I just might.'


	12. In the Bag

**A/N: **Thanks go out to my beta reader, Clara Minutes, for her work on this chapter, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. I hope this chapter leaves you in suspense!

_**Chapter Twelve: In the Bag**_

Before the end of the three days leading up to the meeting with Kitty York – which Harry had not yet entirely decided to attend, though he was leaning towards doing so against all of Ron's protestations – Remus and Moody announced their intentions to begin Harry's training regimen. Harry was relieved to have something to occupy himself with aside from the as-yet-fruitless search for R.A.B., which even Hermione was beginning to despair of ever ending conclusively. They had not found any R.A.B. with the slightest likelihood of ties to Voldemort or even Horcruxes generally, and with Kingsley dead and Tonks too likely to ask questions, it would be even more difficult to obtain Ministry information.

So Harry, Ron, and Hermione filed in to the large basement of Grimmauld Place. Once filled with boxes, furniture, and artefacts stored by the Black clan, it was now empty but for the pervasive, nostril-clogging must and a small table upon which was set three tall crystals arranged in a circle, each facing one of three chairs.

'Do you suppose we should invite Neville too?' Hermione asked upon seeing the crystals.

'The three of you are enough,' said Moody grumpily. Hermione looked away, recalling that she and Ron weren't _entirely_ welcome.

'Actually, I've already invited him to join in,' Remus interjected. 'But he's gone to visit his parents today since he didn't do so on his birthday. Today's lesson is self-contained, so he should be able to attend the next lesson without having to catch up.'

Moody glared, but said nothing more on the subject. 'Starting off a little slow, if you ask me. We could have done this before Potter came of age. Better to practice duelling.'

'This is a necessary skill for duelling,' argued Remus calmly, 'and it will help us to determine their level of focus, which is important for casting non-verbal spells—'

'We learned those last year,' Hermione interrupted.

'Yes,' Remus acknowledged patiently, 'but you haven't learned to disguise them from an opponent who can read your intentions through Legilimency. Without that ability, non-verbal casting is no more useful than the verbal sort – sometimes even less so since you will be focusing more on the spell you are going to cast, making it easier for a Legilimens to read you.'

Remus' gaze was, seemingly without thought, drawn to Harry, and Harry knew that Remus must be thinking about Voldemort. _Or maybe Snape,_ thought Harry. His shoulders straightened, and he hurried past the others to take a spot at the table. He pulled the chair out with more force than was necessary and sat down. The thought of Snape put Harry in an awful mood.

'So is this like Occlumency then?' Hermione asked as she sat lightly upon the seat to Harry's right.

Harry stiffened at the word. Remus sensed this and, addressing Harry, said, 'Think of it more like…like focusing on the Snitch during a game of Quidditch. While you're playing, you need to block out every distraction and focus on finding that little golden ball. So consider this room the Quidditch field, and consider this,' Remus said, pointing to a tiny bluish fissure in the crystal, 'to be the Snitch. Keep your mind on that, and only on that. Try to get closer to it with the force of your mind.'

Hermione, already looking into the crystal, didn't seem to have noticed that the speech had been for Harry's benefit, for she said, 'That sort of thinking is what gets a Seeker hit by a Bludger, isn't it? They ought to be aware of the entire field.'

'Quite right,' Moody put in.

Remus forced a smile. 'Just think of it that way for now, Harry.'

Hermione turned and, realizing her mistake, gave Lupin a cringing look of apology. He smiled back at her. 'Now, everyone look into their crystals. Try to find a spot or crack to focus your attention on, and let yourselves _drift_ into it. Stay focused on that for as long as possible. When your concentration is broken, look up at me; then we'll be able to gauge how best to direct you in later…concentration lessons.'

Harry turned his attention to where Remus had directed him to. _Focus on the crystal, focus on the crystal…_he told himself. _No! I can't focus on the crystal if I'm talking to myself, can I? I have to just _do_ it… I'm so bloody awful at Occlumency…_ And Harry knew, despite Remus' dodging, that this was Occlumency training, no matter how basic.

Harry glanced briefly at Hermione, who was already focused in – or out, depending on how one looked at it – on her crystal, and sighed softly to himself. Pressing his lips together determinedly, he dropped his head into his hand and forcefully glared into his own crystal again.

Eventually, after startling himself out of it several times, Harry felt himself fade into something like a trance. He knew he had succeeded when he "woke up" blinking rapidly, his head feeling as though it were as musty as the room itself.

He grinned up at Remus, who grinned back at him, but then Harry looked to his right, where Hermione still sat, staring blankly, and to his left, where Ron was in a similar condition. His face fell.

Remus tiptoed over and leaned down until he was at Harry's level. 'Don't be discouraged,' he whispered softly. 'I know you'll get it. That was better than my first try, you know. I used to be awful at Occlumency.' Harry tried to look encouraged, but the fact was that he'd been trained in Occlumency by Snape already, and that he _knew_ he ought to be better at it than a raw beginner.

At that moment, Ron looked up, seeming as surprised by himself as Harry had been when he had awoken. The two of them waited a few minutes more for Hermione until Moody, pacing on a carpeted patch of floor in the corner, finally lost his temper. 'All right, it's time for _my_ lesson now!' he roared out loudly.

Hermione jumped and nearly fell off her chair, looking around confusedly as though having forgotten where she was.

* * *

'Ow,' said Ron, holding an ice pack to his lower back. 'Ow, ow…'

'I liked Lupin's lesson better,' Hermione agreed, her face pained as she slowly sat down on the couch in the living room.

Harry was the most damaged of the three, having drawn the most of Moody's attention, but so long as he didn't have to be carried off by a stretcher, he didn't think there was anything he could like less than more Occlumency lessons. He knew they were necessary, but that didn't mean he had to like them. 'I think we learned a lot from Mad-Eye.'

Ron snorted. 'Yeah – like always try to have duels on soft ground.' His head lolled back in relief as he relaxed his sore muscles. 'It's not just his eye that's mad, old Moody.'

'Remus said that they're going to make us official members of the Order of the Phoenix tonight,' Harry offered encouragingly, 'and Neville too.'

'They'd better not expect us to stand,' replied Ron, vitriol in his tone. 'I miss the old Mad-Eye Moody. You know, the one who was a Death Eater? I think he was less of a threat.'

'Ron…' Hermione scolded, though with much less fervour than usual. '…oh, forget it. You're right. He's insane.'

_Insane I can handle,_ thought Harry. The Occlumency lesson had damaged his confidence; at least while Moody was tossing them around, Harry had always gotten back up. But how much would that matter against Voldemort?

After Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville's induction, which was no more official than the members of the Order who could spare the time sitting around a table and toasting them (Harry had been looking forward to something like those junior detective club rings Dudley had scooped out of cereal boxes when they were younger), those who didn't have pressing business elsewhere stayed a while to chat. It was a welcome change from the sad atmosphere of the house ever since the attack on Mr Weasley, but Harry found himself sitting apart, his mind still turning over the consequences of his total ineptitude at Occlumency.

Was Occlumency the key to defeating Voldemort? Dumbledore had said that love was the power Harry had that Voldemort didn't, but it seemed pretty useless when Voldemort could reduce him to a gibbering mess without even being in the same room, and when Snape could counter every spell before they even left Harry's lips. And then Ginny walked by, her face glum, and Harry felt guilty over his own guilt; what right did _he_ have to be upset when the Weasleys still managed to get by?

And then there was the matter of Kitty York's message. Was Harry going to go, or wasn't he? What if it was a trap? He could just imagine Hermione's, Remus', and everyone else's expressions of disappointment if he bollixed everything yet _again_ by making the same mistake he had by going into the Department of Mysteries. Sure, this time he wouldn't be bringing anyone else with him to get hurt, but he was the supposed Chosen One, so if he got himself into trouble, it would bring the whole Order into it when they obviously had better things to do than clean up Harry's messes all the time…

Tangled up in his own feelings, Harry didn't notice Remus sit down beside him until he felt a hand fall onto his shoulder. Then he looked up, and looked around, and noticed that everyone's attention was on _him_, even if they were only glancing at him discreetly. Putting on a brave face, Harry smiled as much as he could, showing everyone he was fine, and finally managed to meet Remus' eyes.

'I'm fine, Remus, really,' Harry assured him. 'I'm just a little glum, is all. Nothing to worry about.'

Remus did not look convinced. 'I take it this is about how today's lesson went?'

Harry shrugged. 'Er, partially.'

'Want to talk about it in the kitchen?'

'Okay.'

Down they went to the kitchen. Remus shut the door behind them. 'I must say, it's been a tiring day. I hope you got medical treatment for the way Moody manhandled you?'

'Yeah. Mrs Weasley found us and forced some on us.' Harry couldn't help but smile a little as he recalled the way Mrs Weasley had acted as she'd tended to them, alternately muttering and shouting about Moody's abuse. 'She was pretty upset.'

'I think he's completely forgotten how to teach anyone anything. He certainly never did that to James.'

Harry had a feeling that Remus dropped his father's name on purpose, but nevertheless, his attention was riveted. 'Moody taught my father?'

'For one semester, yes.' Remus sat down and gestured for Harry to do the same. 'I can't recall what the exact course was. It was part of Auror training.'

Harry's eyes lit up in excitement. Why hadn't anyone ever told him that his father was an Auror?

He asked Remus that exact question. Remus paused before saying, 'Most people don't make it through Auror training. It takes three gruelling years. Back then almost every boy in Gryffindor wanted to be an Auror to battle against Death Eaters.' Wistful of his youth, Remus continued, 'We all fantasized about standing off against Dementors to save attractive young damsels in distress, who would naturally want to reward us properly after our daring deeds.

'But once those who were really set on that fantasy got into training, they realized that they weren't going to become great battle heroes overnight. Your father was one of those who didn't have the patience for it. He dropped out after a year.'

Ruefully, Remus added, 'At least he lasted one semester longer than Sirius…poor Sirius. If anyone ever bought into the fantasy, it was him.'

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, both remembering Sirius. 'But your father was, after all, very wealthy, so it wasn't as though he needed the employment – not to mention that his parents were dead set against the idea of their dear James putting himself in the line of fire, and they were more than happy to support him in leading a life of leisure,' continued Remus. 'He devoted his time after dropping out of Auror training to the Order and Lily. I think he was considering going back into training shortly after his parents died, but then Lily became pregnant with you, and all thoughts of becoming an Auror went right out the window.'

'Why are you telling me all this now?' Harry asked. 'Not that I'm complaining…I just don't know why we didn't talk like this about my dad before.'

Remus became very interested in tracing the grain of the wooden table in the kitchen. 'I supposed that you might be ashamed of your father for not doing anything productive. I didn't want you to think of him that way. He loved you very much, and considered being your father to be the most important job possible.'

'But he was part of the Order, right?' argued Harry. 'That's certainly productive. And…' Harry trailed off, took a great gulp of air, and decided to finally chance asking a question related to the Prophecy. 'My dad faced Voldemort, didn't he? A…a few times?'

Remus stared at Harry as though he'd said something stupendous. Then, frowning, he asked, 'Who on earth told you about that?'

'Er…Dumbledore,' Harry replied. It was partly true, after all, since Dumbledore was the one who had shown him the prophecy. And suddenly, realizing that Voldemort already knew the prophecy anyway, he decided to tell Remus the prophecy in full. He was, after all, a friend, and he was in a better position to help Harry understand it than anyone else short of Voldemort himself.

Remus listened very attentively as Harry told him what the prophecy stated. When Harry asked again about James' supposed defiance, Remus said, slowly and carefully, 'I don't recall the particulars of _three_ times, but considering all that James did for the Order, it's not too surprising. Harry, why didn't you tell me this earlier?'

'Dumbledore didn't think I should talk too much about it, but seeing as Voldemort knows now anyway—'

'_He_ knows!'

'He found out about it when he trapped me in the mindscape set up inside Mr Weasley after…you know. He used Legilimency on me to find out all sorts of things.' Harry looked down, shamefaced, gripping the edges of his seat tightly. 'That's why I really need to learn Occlumency, except I can't! I'm completely useless at it, and because of that Voldemort knows everything he wants to!'

Remus grabbed Harry's shoulders and looked him in the eye, and Harry was struck by how small Remus seemed. He and Harry were about the same height, but Remus seemed old, gray, and so tired. Harry wondered when the last full moon had been, and when the next one would be. 'Harry, you _will_ learn Occlumency, and you can't feel guilt about having been bested by a powerful wizard several times your own age! Albus…'

Remus trailed off, looked away, and then continued, 'Albus was very proud of you. He knew you would have trouble with Occlumency, though…he said it wouldn't be necessary in a world full of people like you…he was going to wait until this year to teach you, but…' Remus frowned. 'That's what I haven't managed to understand. He spent part of last year…a good part of it…teaching _me_ Occlumency. It's as though he knew…'

A knock sounded on the door, startling them both. It opened, and Ron looked in, moving awkwardly into the room. 'Er, if you're finished…'

'Yes, we're done.' Remus stood up and smiled down at Harry, and Harry could feel Dumbledore's own confidence seeping through. 'Just remember, Harry, that _Dumbledore_ had faith in you.'

* * *

The sun was still bleeding its way into the sky when Harry Potter popped in out of thin air outside a tanned brick pub near the centre of Godric's Hollow. The sound of tiny birds chirping as they flew from tree to flush summer tree filled the early morning air with music. Harry was the only person on the street except for an old woman several blocks down the lane.

She craned her neck and squinted, as though believing the stranger to be a figment of her imagination, and Harry waved and smiled at her. She withdrew, waved back feebly, and went on her way – to where, Harry couldn't imagine.

Godric's Hollow was a sleepy village if ever there was one. It had one main street with a small church on one side, a small grocer on the other, and the local pub (which also served as a bed and breakfast to the village's few visitors) in between. Harry looked down at the crinkled, folded old postcard in his hands and back up at the building.

The red sign with gold lettering hanging from the building had not changed, nor had anything else on the building's exterior. The only change was the green in the leaves of the trees. The postcard's picture had been taken in the fall; the leaves in the picture were eternally gliding to the ground and down to the roof of the old two-storey building.

Harry made the short walk to the church, all the while observing the village closely. Small, neat rows of cottages lined the side streets, each nearly identical to the one beside it. Only four out of every five driveways had a car. He had been told that Godric's Hollow had one of the largest concentrations of wizarding folk outside of Hogsmeade, but it was clear that the wizards and witches who lived there knew how to keep themselves unnoticed by Muggles. The only sign of wizarding life that Harry could find from his vantage point was a Puddlemere United flag flapping from a flagpole in one front yard.

The graveyard was set beside the church. It was barely wider than the property of the church itself, but stretched on far beyond it. Some of the gravestones were so old that the names upon them could no longer be read; Harry walked quickly past these and went behind the church to find the section where his parents were buried. He vaguely recognized several wizarding names scattered amongst the Muggles, and wondered what Muggle visitors must think of a name like 'Glinda Flobberwort' when they passed by.

Harry took a deep breath and continued his search. He had been intending to visit his parents' graves some time in the summer; his meeting with Kitty York that day gave him the chance to do so. The note hadn't mentioned the time of their meeting or the exact place, so Harry intended to stay in the village until he came across her.

Then, his chest in knots, Harry found their grave.

_In Loving Memory of_

_James Potter _

_b. January 28th, 1959; d. October 31st, 1981_

_and Lily Potter_

_b. March 20th, 1959; d. October 31st, 1981_

_Do not mourn our early passing_

_For now our lives beyond death start_

_We travel through the veil of death_

_With love and peace in both our hearts_

Harry felt foolish for not having brought flowers. What sort of son was he, anyway? 'Hi Mum. Hi Dad,' he said, his voice wavering.

Now that he was standing there, what else was there to say? Harry had thought that he would feel closer to his parents here, but he felt more uncomfortable than anything else. He shifted from foot to foot, his hands in his pockets, staring down at the grass upon his parents' grave.

His head snapped to the side upon hearing soft footsteps approaching, and he squinted at a woman in the graveyard through the bright light of the morning sun. She was all in black from her blazer to her high heels. She wore black sunglasses as well, and was carrying a bouquet of a dozen long-stemmed, blooming red roses in her arms. She was too distracted by reading gravestones to notice Harry's presence, even as she walked directly toward him.

When she was only a couple of metres away the woman finally looked up; she was so startled upon noticing Harry that she dropped her flowers, and Harry moved immediately to help her pick them up. The woman, too, bent over to collect the flowers, and it was only then that Harry got a good enough look at her face to realize that she was the person he was there to meet.

The two froze in recognition of each other. Then, slowly, the woman bent down far enough to collect her flowers, and stood back up again. By that time Harry's hand was inside the pocket of his jeans grasping his wand, but he didn't yet pull it out since the woman's arms were too full with flowers for her to hold a wand properly anyway.

Kitty York was tall for a woman, almost as tall as Harry, and with a bony figure like Aunt Petunia's. 'Oh my, I'm _so_ sorry,' she began, 'I didn't realize you would be out here so early! But of course you would be, you're their _son_ after all, and I'm ever so sorry for interrupting! It's my fault after all, I completely forgot to specify the time – I'm completely hopeless at this clandestine meeting thing, except I _think_ I'm supposed to be wearing black like this…' With her large lips, doused in deep red lipstick matching the roses, opened wide and the way in which her neck flew forward as she spoke, it looked as though she were trying to capture and gulp down her own words.

Harry took his hand off his wand; this chatty woman didn't seem like she posed any sort of threat. 'It's nice to meet you, Ms. York,' said Harry, forcing a smile.

'Oh, you're so polite! Just like Lily! I knew Lily, you know – that's why I'm here, after all. I'm really very sorry for interrupting—'

'It's no trouble at all,' Harry assured her. He moved to the side to make way for her and said, 'Er, are those flowers for my parents, or…?' Harry didn't know what else they could be for.

'Oh! No! They're for you! I'm sure that sounds silly – boys don't like flowers' – she laughed uncomfortably – 'but I mean that they're not really flowers, you see! Here!'

Kitty York dropped the flowers in front of Harry, and he caught them on their way down. 'Just hold them like that, and…' She took out her wand, and before Harry could make any sound of alarm, she tapped it on the flowers.

Harry grunted as his arms were forced to immediately adapt to carrying a much heavier and larger object than a bouquet of flowers. The flowers had transformed into a large leather travel satchel; Harry shifted the weight to one arm and grabbed the handle on top with the other, moving to carry it at his side.

'Oh, sorry!' said Kitty York again, noticing his discomfort. 'I should have warned you first!'

'Yeah,' Harry agreed. Harry watched as Kitty took off her sunglasses and tapped them with her wand to make them about the size of a dinner mint, and then dropped them into the small breast pocket of her blazer. She then held out her hand; Harry saw the kind expression in her eyes and shook her hand gently.

Immediately afterwards Kitty started to look around anxiously, her body strung taut with nervousness. 'I'm sorry that I can't stay very long to speak with you, but I'm being followed, you see – by the Ministry, I think, or maybe something worse. That bag you're holding belonged to your mum. I'm sure it has something important in it, but I've never been able to open it. I'm only here now because I think she would want you to have it now that you're all grown up – she considered it very important.' Harry's grasp on the satchel tightened. 'And whatever it is, someone else wants it too, and now that I'm back in Britain with it, they've been trying to take it off my hands before I could get to you.'

Kitty's hands grabbed each other and squeezed in fright. 'Oh, I just know they're coming! I've really got to go!'

'Wait!' said Harry. He grabbed her arm as she turned to leave. She gave him a forlorn look, and Harry opened his mouth, but couldn't think of a single question to ask, even though knew he had so many.

Just as Kitty pulled herself out of Harry's grip, they heard the sounds of several consecutive Apparitions, like the popping of popcorn. The figures appeared in the distance at the back of the church; as soon as one Apparated in, he ran towards them, and was followed by another, and another. Harry whipped out his wand just as the first yelled, 'Freeze!' Kitty York stood paralyzed in fright.

Harry turned to run but saw others Apparating in by a tall tree, and still more running in through the gate to the cemetery. A pair of passers-by were staring and pointing, but these wizards didn't seem to care.

Harry grabbed Kitty's shoulder tightly, and she turned to stare at him, wide-eyed, as he focused his mind on Grimmauld Place and prepared to Apparate.

'_Expelliarmus!_' A beam of light flew towards Harry.

'_Protego!_' Harry managed to block the spell, but his Apparition was interrupted. They were in too close now for him to Apparate away without being disarmed first. Several other attempts to disarm Harry were made as the wizards – there looked to be about fifteen of them in all, five from each Apparition point – approached, but Harry blocked them all easily. He kept waiting to dodge an Unforgivable Curse, or to push Kitty out of the way of one, but only a few low-level spells were fired, and only at Harry. Kitty was clutching at his arm tightly now, making no move for her own wand.

As they closed around Harry and Kitty in a circle, Harry noticed that they weren't wearing masks. _They're not Death Eaters,_ he realized, _but then who are they?_

The one who had Apparated first seemed to be the leader, for he threw off his hood. He was a bald man, at least in his fifties, with a long face and a cold, tight-lipped expression. 'Hand over the satchel, Mr Potter.' The man held out one hand while keeping his wand trained on Harry with the other. 'It is stolen Ministry of Magic property.'

'Who are you, then?' asked Harry, trying to buy time.

'That is not your concern,' said another man in the crowd.

The old man waved his hand to silence the voice, and then replied slowly, 'I am employed at the Department of Mysteries, as are several others here. The rest are from Magical Law Enforcement, and they have been authorized to arrest you and Ms York if they must. If you hand over the satchel without resisting, you may both go on your way, and all the outstanding charges against you, Ms York' – he glanced at her with a sneer playing on his lips, but immediately refocused his attention onto Harry – 'will be drop—'

Startlingly, the man's face froze mid-word, his eyes open wide in surprise. Then he began tipping forward, and the two others beside him moved to catch him, but they were immediately frozen themselves. The others looked behind them in alarm, but too late; one by one, each fell like an unsupported plank of wood onto the ground.

'It's all right,' Harry assured Kitty, whose nails were digging into his arm. 'They're with me.' She looked around, and Harry added, 'They've cast an Invisibility Charm. Er, I know you said to come alone, but that seemed sort of stupid.'

Harry had told Remus everything the day before. Keeping information about the Horcruxes secret still made sense – there was no need to give Voldemort any way of knowing how well (or badly) Harry was doing in his search if Voldemort managed to capture an Order member, not to mention that there had been a spy in the Order before – but there wasn't any reason to believe that Kitty York had anything to do with the Horcruxes. He had asked Remus to send a hidden guard with him so that he could still meet with her without having to worry about an ambush.

And it was lucky that Remus had. 'The spells will wear off any minute. You two, get out of here,' said Remus' voice from close behind Harry. Immediately Harry grabbed Kitty's arm as he had before and Apparated away.

They arrived on the street in front of Grimmauld Place. Harry, still holding Kitty by the arm, began to drag them both to the house. But Kitty refused to budge; Harry turned to her and raised an eyebrow questioningly, about to explain that they were going to hide.

'Where are we going?' Kitty York asked, sounding puzzled.

'Into the house,' said Harry. 'We'll be safe there.'

'Which one?'

'N –' Harry started choking on his words and coughed instead of saying _Number twelve, Grimmauld Place_. Then he realized his mistake: Kitty York couldn't see number twelve, Grimmauld Place. And Harry wasn't the Secret-Keeper, so he couldn't tell her. He felt foolish for not having asked Remus when he'd had the chance.

His shoulder slumped. 'Er, I can't take you in. There's a Fidelius Charm on the place.'

Kitty smiled softly. She reached into her breast pocket for her sunglasses, then into another pocket for her wand. She tapped the sunglasses with her wand, and they returned to their normal size. As she did so, she said, 'That's okay, Harry. I'll see you some other time.'

Before Harry could ask when, she Apparated away.

Harry sighed and walked toward the door. The heavy satchel of his mother's old things weighed him down, causing his shoulders to slump lazily to one side. Just as one of his feet landed on the old stone steps, another loud pop came from behind him.

Hopefully, Harry turned slightly around so that he could see behind him. 'Ms. York?' he started to say. Before her name was fully out of his mouth, Harry's stomach plummeted deep into his belly, and his heart simultaneously pumped fury into his veins. His face fell in disbelief, and he clutched his wand tightly.

'Hand over the bag, Potter,' said his old professor in the soft, cold voice of authority he had used before to instantly silence a class.

Severus Snape had returned to Grimmauld Place.


	13. The Simulacrum Seal

**A/N:** Here's another chapter for you! It took a while, but the next chapter should be up some time during winter break (i.e. within the next two weeks, if not sooner). I've worked quite hard on this chapter, so I hope it meets your expectations! Thanks go out to Clara Minutes again for her beta reading and to my patient readers!

**Important Note: **It has been brought to my attention that I could use a second beta reader specifically for British English concerns. If anyone is interested, please contact me; chapters two through thirteen and onward could certainly use the attention (chapter one has already been taken care of, and will be posted with minor Brit updates shortly). The person in this post would only be asked to point out places where I've erred in my knowledge of Briticisms, i.e. anywhere I use a non-British word or spelling or phrase. Thorough beta reading isn't required. I'm not really picky on turnaround time; this is pretty much a half-hour job per chapter, I think, so one chapter a week shouldn't be too big of a deal. Real British folks only, please :)

_**Chapter 13: The Simulacrum Seal**_

'Hand over the bag, Potter,' repeated Snape. He sneered and held out one hand, the other holding his wand, and Harry's muscles tightened in anticipation. 'I don't have time to bother with you – you can keep all your limbs attached if you give me the bag _now_.'

'Snape,' said Harry, sneering right back. His chest was tight as conflicting emotions jockeyed for supremacy; hatred was quickly overcoming the more transient feelings of surprise and – though Harry would not have admitted it – fear.

'Indeed, idiot boy!' Snape said. His nostrils flared with anger, and he gazed at Harry venomously as he took a confident step forward. 'Give me the bag!' he insisted.

They raised their wands simultaneously, but Snape cast first. Without a word, a small bead of red light formed at the tip of Snape's wand. Instinctively, Harry yelled, '_Protego!_'

A jet of red light blasted out of Snape's wand and bounced off the barely-formed Shield Charm barrier. Harry recognized the focused look in Snape's eyes as he prepared another incantation and dived off the steps in ample time to avoid it. The spell hit the door with a thump.

Harry pushed himself to his feet; blood pounded in his veins as he raised his wand and cast another Shield Charm. Snape cast another spell, but it also bounced ineffectually off the barrier.

Harry could tell, from great experience, that Snape was frustrated and impatient; the next spell, he knew, would not be one Harry could block with a mere Shield Charm. '_Relashio!_' Harry yelled.

Snape cast the countercurse thoughtlessly and pointed his wand at Harry again. Harry desperately ran through and discarded options in his mind, knowing he had nowhere to go for cover, and he couldn't dodge Snape forever.

Then the door to Grimmauld Place was thrown open, and a burst of red light slammed into Snape, knocking him several feet backward into the street. Hermione stepped outside onto the top step, and Harry briefly nodded to her in thanks. They both focused their wands on Snape and – wordlessly in Hermione's case – cast their own spells at him. As his spell left his wand, Harry enthusiastically considered the prospect of Snape's capture and interrogation.

But Snape cast his own Shield Charm in the nick of time, and both spells bounced off, disappointing Harry more than he cared to admit. Snape immediately cast a spell Harry hadn't seen before, a wide beam of light that caught Harry in the chest and knocked the wind out of him. It hit Hermione in the knees, as she was higher up, and she fell hard onto the pavement.

'I don't have _time_ for this!' Snape's face contorted in anger, and he angrily stalked over to Harry, casting another spell in Hermione's direction that encased her in ice.

Harry didn't care what he had to do – he didn't even care if he died – he would _not_ let Snape get what he wanted. The bag was his mum's. He raised his wand again.

'You can't stop me, Potter,' said Snape, stopping some feet short. 'Hand me the bag.'

'Why don't you take it from me?' replied Harry, snarling.

'_Crucio!_'

Harry screamed and contorted in pain. His legs gave way as sparks exploded in his eyes, and he clawed at the dirt beneath his hands.

The spell stopped quickly. Harry gasped for breath. 'Give me the bag,' Snape repeated.

'No,' replied Harry, his voice strained. He swallowed blood from his bitten tongue. Why was Snape still asking him? He could just rip the bag from Harry's grasp with a spell.

_Unless he can't_, Harry realized. 'You'll have to take it by force.'

Snape's glare was briefly unsure, which seemed to confirm Harry's suspicion. If he could take the bag without Harry's permission, he surely would have done so by now. There had to be some sort of charm or curse or ward on the bag stopping him.

'You can't, can you? You can't take it unless I give it to you. Then you'll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands…and I doubt your master would like that much.' Snape wouldn't kill him or permanently harm him because Voldemort wanted him for himself, so Harry was absolutely safe, and he would gladly hold out over any amount of pain if it meant being victorious over Snape.

But then Snape pointed his wand in the direction of the doorway. 'I'll kill Miss Granger if you don't. Hand it over.'

If only it were just Harry and Snape…but Hermione was there, so Harry knew he had no choice but to give up the bag. He pushed himself to his feet with some effort, the muscles in his shoulder reluctantly agreeing to bear the bag's weight again. 'You bastard,' said Harry, but the words gave him no comfort as he reluctantly took a step forward.

Snape raised his head triumphantly as he closed the rest of the distance between them. 'You couldn't have opened it anyway, Potter,' he said, his face contorted arrogantly as his hand closed over the handle of the heavy satchel.

His fingers brushed against Harry's, and the revulsion this triggered made Harry grasp the bag tighter. Spontaneously, his hand curling around his wand, Harry punched Snape as hard as he could in the face. Snape instantly let go of the bag and took a step back, clutching his bloodied nose and moaning in shock. He raised his wand again in Harry's direction, and Harry felt the full force of a powerful Cruciatus.

But it ended instantly, and Harry heard several loud pops all around him that caused a tiny bubble of hope to form. Snape turned, and as the wands of several Order members trained on him, he Disapparated. Moody's spell only barely missed him; it passed through where Snape's head had been and left a blackened burn mark on the side of the house.

Remus rushed over to Harry and helped him stand up; Harry hadn't even realized he wasn't on his feet, and smiled slightly in thanks. Moody, meanwhile, quickly freed a shivering Hermione from her icy casing. Harry and Remus helped Hermione to her feet, and Harry opened the door for her, worried as he watched her shiver.

'Are you all r-r-r-ight, Harry?' asked Hermione, her teeth chattering.

'I'm fine,' said Harry, getting up. It was true, but the suddenness with which the battle had ended and the lack of any satisfying conclusion for either himself or Snape left Harry feeling uneasy.

He looked past Remus and saw several other members of the Order trailing behind, and felt compelled to explain. 'Snape –' he said.

'He Disapparated as we were arriving!' bellowed Moody. 'That traitorous scum! He doesn't even have the nerve to face me like a man!' His wooden leg tapped angrily against the step outside.

'We're blocking the doorway,' said Remus, trying to diffuse the situation. They moved inside, and the other Order members followed after them.

'You're back!' said Ron, grinning as he walked down the stairs. His face fell as he noted Harry's dishevelled appearance and Hermione's face, red with cold. 'What happened?'

'Long story,' said Harry curtly. Mrs Black shouted obscenities at them all, and Remus soon left Harry's side to help Moody pull her curtains tightly shut.

* * *

Ron was furious when he heard about Snape's appearance; he crossed his arms and glared at the floor. 'I should've been there,' he said acidly.

'Me too,' Neville agreed. 'All of us together could have taken him down.'

'Oh, I don't really think so,' commented Luna. Ron and Neville glared at her.

'How did Snape even know about the bag?' wondered Remus aloud, sitting back in the old armchair. The room was packed with a half-dozen Order members, Harry, a magically-warmed Hermione, and every other occupant of the house who happened to be at home. The Order members had conjured up their own seating – except for Tonks, who sat cross-legged on the floor.

'We have another spy in our midst!' Moody announced, pointing his finger around the room. 'One of us is working for –'

'Moody, please,' said Remus, raising his voice to speak over him. 'We don't know that for certain. There is no basis on which to accuse anyone. It's entirely possible that Snape learned of this through a source completely outside of the Order. The Ministry obviously knew about the rendezvous as well, after all.'

Moody did not reply to this, but his magical eye twitched.

'I agree with Remus,' said Harry. He didn't dare to look in Moody's direction again in case it made him think he was being ganged up on, but he locked eyes with every other Order member in the room, one by one, as he added, 'Someone in the Ministry could've tipped off Voldemort instead. I trust everyone in this room with my life.'

A collective ripple of discomfort went through the Order members at the sound of Lord Voldemort's name, but it was overridden quickly by smiles at Harry's confidence in them. 'So what's in the bag?' asked Tonks.

The bag sat atop Harry's lap. He looked down at it. 'I don't know. I suppose I should try to open it.'

Remus stood up. 'Set it down on the floor and try to open it with a spell.' He was frowning and gazing at the bag with distinct suspicion.

'It was my mum's, Remus,' Harry replied. 'It's not dangerous!'

'If it were as innocent as that, Snape and the Ministry wouldn't have had any interest in it,' Hermione pointed out.

'I really want to see what's in it – um, unless you would rather be alone?' said Tonks. She was clearly hoping otherwise.

Harry smiled. 'No, that's fine – but I'm going to open it _by hand_, Remus.' He set the bag down on the floor and could feel many pairs of eyes focusing avidly on his actions as he slipped the leather strap on the left side out of the loop holding it down.

He then tried to pull the strap through the brass buckle, but the buckle burned his fingertips as he touched it, and his hand darted away in surprise. 'Ouch,' said Harry. Remus moved forward in alarm, but Harry waved him off dismissively. 'It's okay, I'm fine … but it's too hot to touch.'

Harry reached for his wand and pointed it at the bag, but before he could try to undo the buckle with magic, a green glow came out of the top. Everyone stepped back, including Harry, and they watched as the glow swirled around the top, moving up several feet.

As it neared the ceiling, the misty light took form. It moved into the shape of a human torso, with legs and arms filling with light and growing increasingly bright as the process continued. Soon feet, hands, and fingertips could be seen, and out of the green head atop the torso, thousands of thin tendrils resembling hair fell to the torso's back.

After the shape was fully formed it took on colour – again starting with the torso and moving outward, a blot of black ink streaming into the shape of robes and turning into pale skin as it ran up the neck. The tendrils of green light turned to soft red and lost their brightness as they settled into the texture of human hair.

Harry continued to kneel motionlessly by the bag, looking up at the person taking form. It had been clear to him since the shape took on feminine curves who it was most likely to be, and anticipation was making it hard for him to breathe. _Mum, Mum, Mum … _

He gazed up at her breathlessly as the woman's lips curved into a kind smile. She looked down at Harry, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the room, just as Harry was. Their eyes locked, and Harry's mother spoke to him for the first time he could remember.

'Hello,' she said simply.

'Oh Harry,' said Ginny, her fingers covering her mouth. 'Is that …' She did not finish; the look in Harry's eyes made the answer obvious.

'Any further attempt to open this bag by force will result in its implosion,' said Lily, the emotionless words not fitting at all with the way she looked or the way her eyes sparkled into Harry's own.

'Impossible,' stated Remus, standing up and moving just close enough to reach his arm out to touch her. His fingers met her arm – and passed right through.

'It's a simulacrum,' whispered Hermione. Her hand fell lightly onto Harry's shoulder. 'She's not real, Harry.'

'But she's very pretty,' said Luna. 'She looks like she was very nice when she was alive.'

_Well, of course she's not real,_ Harry said, chastising himself for his silly, hopeful reaction. Yet, even knowing that, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

On the other hand, the simulacrum's eyes left Harry's without a moment's pause, and said, 'Quite right.' There was, again, no emotion behind her words. 'I am an image of Lily Potter, the owner of the contents.'

Remus, who had still been holding out his hand, retracted it, and sat back down. 'Lily Potter is dead,' he said to the cold, silent room.

Lily turned to him next, still smiling. 'Regardless, the contents are not yours.'

'I'm her son,' said Harry quietly. 'I suppose they must be mine.'

'I'm sorry, but no,' she replied. Harry's brow furrowed in dismay. Her expression turned remorseful. 'You may only access the contents if you answer the question correctly.'

'What question?' asked Hermione instantly.

The eyes of Lily's simulacrum caught Harry's again. Her lips straightened, and she gazed down at him with forceful seriousness. 'What do you wish to do with the contents?'

'I …' Harry paused, then answered, truthfully, 'I don't know.'

The simulacrum's neutral smile returned. 'A fair answer, but not one for which I can release the contents to you.'

'What's in the bag?' asked Harry. 'I can't tell you what I want to do with it unless I know what's in it.'

'I cannot say,' she shrugged.

Hermione frowned. 'Don't you know?'

She smiled a little. 'I know…but I can't tell.'

'Can you give us a clue?' pressed Hermione.

Again, the image appeared remorseful. Its lips formed a slight pout, and its chin tilted downward. But there was a mechanical quality to its actions that Harry hadn't noticed before, as though all its expressions and movements were patterns it was forced to follow. Its mood changed with every question asked, which just wasn't normal. 'I'm afraid not.'

'Can we ask as many times as we want?' asked Tonks calmly from behind, not having moved from her cross-legged position.

Harry felt bereft when the image turned its back to him. Although he kept reminding himself that it was not his mother, its lack of any particular regard for him was unexplainably painful – as though his mother's love ought to somehow, magically, be extended to this image of her too.

'Yes,' the simulacrum, 'so long as you do not try to force the bag open.'

'Fair enough,' said Tonks, looking gamely about the room. 'We ought to be able to crack this.'

'Perhaps we should ask _Harry_ how he wants to proceed,' said Remus pointedly.

The image turned back to Harry, and he swallowed. 'I'd like to see what's inside,' he said.

The simulacrum, taking this as a reply, answered, 'Curiosity, while a valuable trait, is not the answer required. Good try, though,' it added, smiling in a way that might have been encouraging but instead made Harry's stomach churn.

'She's very lifelike,' Hermione said in awe.

'Thank you,' the image replied.

'Simulacrums are very advanced magic,' began Hermione. 'Usually they can't talk at all, but this one speaks and moves almost like a real person. I read a treatise on lifelike simulacrum charms a few months ago…'

Harry, disgust and anger overriding curiosity, changed his mind. 'I've had enough of this,' he snapped. He did want to open the bag, but he couldn't stand looking at his mother's unfeeling ghost anymore – it was morbid. _Did my mother ever think that I would find this – after she was long dead? Or was she planning on picking it up a few days after she left it? _

The coldness of the simulacrum's reactions made Harry certain that it wasn't something his mother had meant for him to find, and that pricked his heart. It wasn't her, and Harry knew that he shouldn't hold the simulacrum's lack of love for him against his mother, but it was painful nevertheless.

'Then I will withdraw,' said the simulacrum. 'I hope to see you again soon – when you have found the answer.' With that, the simulacrum instantaneously reverted to a beam of green light and shrank back into the satchel. Then even the light from the satchel died out.

Harry couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch the bag. He pressed his fingers gently into the cold brown leather, barely hearing the voices around him and not understanding any of what they chattered about until his own name reached his emotion-fogged brain.

'Harry,' said Remus again. Harry blinked and snapped his wrist away from the bag, then turned to Remus and looked at him blankly. 'I'm very sorry,' he said so quietly that Harry could hardly hear him over the excited and curious talk of the others.

'It's all right, Remus,' said Harry louder. 'I'll look at it later.'

Moody's magical eye spun towards Harry even as he continued speaking to another Order member. Harry glared at it, and Moody stopped his conversation to give Harry his full attention. 'Quite all right, Potter,' he said. 'No harm in waiting a bit.'

'We should ask Bill to take a look at it,' Ron suggested timidly, avoiding Harry's look. 'He's a curse-breaker, after all. He should be able to open it.'

'An excellent suggestion,' Remus opined. He leaned over to pick up the bag, glancing intently at Harry to make sure it was all right. Harry barely nodded, and Remus grunted as he lifted it. 'I'll put this somewhere safe in the house, and we can get Bill to examine it when he gets back from Gringotts. Meanwhile, we need to find Kitty York again. Lily may have told her how to open the bag.'

Hearing his mum's name in conversation was strange for Harry. He'd never thought that the day would turn out like this.

Remus walked away with the satchel. Harry bristled at all the sympathetic glances directed toward him, even from Hermione and Ron. 'Well, thanks to everyone for helping out,' said Harry tonelessly. 'I'm going to go upstairs and wash up, if you don't mind.'

* * *

Bill did not arrive until late that evening – and when he did arrive, he insisted on eating first once he caught a whiff of Mrs Weasley's cooking. 'I love Fleur, but…' he said, and everyone understood, though not everyone was patient. Hermione stared at Bill's plate throughout dinner, as though willing the food into his stomach so he could get to work on the simulacrum.

As soon as he finished, she said, 'Can I watch? Please?' Bill nodded, and she went with him and Remus to fetch the bag.

Harry briefly considered joining them, but he decided he would be quite happy to never see the simulacrum again. He regretted his decision after about an hour with no news of their progress, but was stubborn enough to continue staring at the Occlumency book in his hands and pretend to be reading. Neville, Ron, and Luna waited with him, Luna engrossed in the latest _Quibbler_ and Neville and Ron playing wizard chess.

Bill, Hermione, and Remus emerged nearly an hour after that. Their faces told Harry immediately that they had been unsuccessful. 'There's good news and bad news,' said Bill, dropping the bag onto the table. 'The good news is that I could easily destroy the simulacrum and unseal the bag.'

'That sounds good,' said Ron, frowning, 'so what's the bad news?'

'The bad news is that I don't think there's anything in the bag at all,' said Bill.

Harry snorted. 'Tell that to my sore arm.'

'Oh, it weighs as much as a ton of bricks, all right,' Bill agreed, 'but that's just to throw us off the scent.'

'That doesn't make any sense,' said Ron stubbornly.

Hermione beamed. 'It makes all sorts of sense!' she said excitedly, and she went on as though she could hold herself back no longer. 'She – Harry's mum – put the information into the simulacrum itself! Whatever is inside is only there to throw us off – it's only there to make us _think_ the contents are important, when it's really the spell itself! That way if anyone manages to turn the spell off, the knowledge inside will be destroyed, making it virtually impervious to theft!'

'Clever,' remarked Moody, startling the room with his arrival.

'Containing information within a spell itself is a ploy going back to the dawn of wizardry,' remarked Bill to Moody. 'It's all well and good if you can break the spell to unlock whatever's inside, but if the spell _itself_ holds the knowledge sought, counterspells are counterproductive.'

'But how can you be sure?' asked Ron sceptically.

Bill sighed. 'There's no way to be sure, but if I'm right, there would be no way to undo the damage to the simulacrum I would inflict by opening the bag forcibly. It's not worth the risk.'

'We'll just have to play by its rules,' said Hermione. 'As Tonks said, I'm sure we can crack it if we try hard enough. Surely Lily didn't want to make it impossible.'

Shaking his head, Bill said, 'I wouldn't be so sure about that. This bag may have been meant for her eyes only.'

'So why would the Ministry want it?' demanded Harry. 'If it's supposed to be personal, why is everyone else so interested in it – and why now?'

'Who knows?' said Moody, grumbling angrily. 'It's those damnable Unspeakables at it again…'

'Moody –'

'Don't you "Moody" me, boy!' Moody said angrily to Remus. A dam in Moody's mind seemed to break at that moment, and he said, loudly, 'Merlin, when I was an Auror, I wished the whole bloody Department of Mysteries would collapse on top of those Unspeakables and their petty little secrets! They've always refused to share even critical information – information that could save the lives of civilians and Aurors alike! And if it weren't for the leeway they're allowed and the utter lack of supervision, Augustus Rookwood could have been caught _years_ before his identity was divulged in the trials! His spies infest the Ministry to this day! Lily Potter was the only Unspeakable I've ever managed to have a civil conversation with! The rest of them would be better off transfigured into newts!'

'Harry's mum was an Unspeakable?' Ron blurted out. 'You never said so,' he said to Harry.

'I didn't know.'

Moody's magical eye spun in his head as his real one widened in surprise. 'She left the job before you were born,' he hurried to say, 'and I meant no offence to her, of course.'

'I didn't know, either,' said Remus, frowning at Moody. 'She said she worked in the Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.'

'I didn't even know that much,' said Harry with a hint of accusation in his tone.

'It didn't seem important,' said Remus. 'She didn't work there long; as Moody said, she stopped working a few months before you were born.'

'She did work in the Being Division,' explained Moody. 'There was a joint project in the Being Division with the Unspeakables for a while – something to do with Dementors, I heard, but there were all sorts of rumours – but the project was stopped, and Mrs Potter was transferred to the Department of Mysteries. I only know about it because of a bit of information she passed to the Order while she was there.'

'Wow, so there could be all sorts of Ministry secrets in there,' remarked Ron. 'No wonder they want it back.'

Hermione looked thoughtful. 'I don't know if that's all there is to it,' she said slowly. 'Snape must have been _awfully_ desperate for it to have come back to Grimmauld Place. Besides, any Ministry secrets in the bag would have to be older than Harry.'

'It's getting late,' said Bill, interrupting the discussion, 'and I really have to get back home. I'll see you lot around.'

'Yes, I suppose I should be off as well,' said Moody. 'I only stopped by to see if that bag was opened up yet...looks like you have much more work to do. It will be a good test for you, Potter.'

'Yeah, we're always up for a good mystery,' said Ron unenthusiastically.

To Ron and Harry, Hermione spoke quietly, 'As if we need another one.'

* * *

Harry simply couldn't sleep that night. His chest was tight with an unpleasant amount of curiosity and helplessness. His mother had been an Unspeakable. She had worked in the Department of Mysteries. For all he knew, her whole life was laid out in the bag at the foot of his bed with his trunk – and he couldn't open it. He felt cheated.

When he was quite certain that Ron was fast asleep, Harry shifted slowly out of bed and grabbed his wand and the Occlumency text from the nightstand. If he couldn't get any sleep, he could at least try to do something productive. Remus would be thrilled if Harry could master even one of the exercises in the book…

Harry went to the drawing room, tiptoeing so as to avoid waking the girls. In the darkness, it was as though the room had lost none of its grim qualities despite Mrs Weasley's efforts; the Black family tapestry, so easily forgotten in the bustle of the light of day, dominated the empty, quiet room. It swayed against the wall as Harry passed.

_I wonder why they haven't taken that thing down yet_, thought Harry. He kept forgetting to ask why the ugly, awful tapestry was still there. He put the Occlumency book down and approached the tapestry, his eyes catching the name of the hateful Bellatrix, which was dimly illuminated by the thin beam of moonlight escaping the curtains.

_If Mrs Black could blast Sirius off the tree…_ Harry grinned. This was much better than studying Occlumency, after all. He pointed his wand at Bellatrix's name and whispered, '_flaminis_'.

Bellatrix's name was instantaneously replaced by a black mark even larger than the ones for all the other removed names, and Harry smirked. But the mark began to move outward, and Harry became worried as it swallowed the blast mark for Andromeda beside it.

At that point, the tapestry erupted into flames. _Oops,_ thought Harry; he didn't care if the tapestry was destroyed, but he also didn't want to burn the house down with all of his friends inside.

'_Aguamenti_,' he said as quietly as he could. A jet of water flew from his wand, and he directed it around the edges of the tapestry's flame until the fire was out.

Harry took stock of the damage. Almost a quarter of the family tree was gone; the damage stretched to the right end of the tapestry, including the "loss" of Narcissa's name, all the way to Sirius' Aunt Elladora at the burn's top edges, whose date of death was singed. The place where Sirius's name used to be was still intact, but most of his brother's name was gone. _What was his brother's name again?_ Only the 'R' and the 'e' remained.

_Well, R-something Black, anyway,_ thought Harry carelessly. It didn't matter; Sirius hadn't liked his brother anyway. R. Black had joined up with the Death Eaters, after all…

'Wait,' said Harry aloud. 'R. Black…R. B….'

It couldn't be.


	14. Slightly Slytherin

**A/N:** Thanks again to my beta reader, Clara Minutes, for pointing out some important problems in this chapter (which have been fixed, of course!) And thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter too.

This might be the last chapter you'll see for a little while. I just finished a complete rehaul of the plot outline for my other work in progress, Anomie, and now it's Simulacrum Seal's turn. It's a dirty, unpleasant job, but it must be done. So I hope you enjoy this chapter, especially since Fred and George managed to weasel their way in (ouch, horrible pun) and lengthened the chapter considerably.

**_Chapter 14: Slightly Slytherin_**

Excitement battled pragmatism. Harry could imagine himself running into Hermione's room and jumping up and down on her bed, laughing and whooping. But Hermione might (probably would) hex him, and Ginny would certainly want to know what he was going on about.

So waking Ron was Harry's best option. But he reminded himself that he couldn't get _too_ excited yet; he still didn't know if Regulus Black's middle name started with an 'A'. Everything else fit perfectly; a Death Eater would be in the best possible position to find out about Horcruxes and learn their locations.

And the note fit with what they knew about Regulus. He had tried to escape the life of a Death Eater and had been killed by them. If he'd known he was going to die, it made perfect sense that he'd want to hurt Voldemort as much as possible before he was murdered.

But Harry remembered the information Kingsley had retrieved for the Horcrux search. They were supposed to have checked all the people killed by Voldemort or the Death Eaters already…but now that Harry thought about it Regulus hadn't been listed there.

If Death Eaters hadn't killed Regulas, who had?

First things first: find out Regulus' middle name. Wake Ron. Maybe not in that order. Harry, his heart pounding with the excitement of a Quidditch match, walked quietly up the stairs and to the door of the room he shared with Ron.

When he entered, a rather loud voice whispered, 'And where have _you_ been?'

The voice wasn't Ron's, so Harry held up his wand. But he immediately felt silly when he realized it was Phineas. Phineas Nigellus hadn't been around of late, possibly trying hard not to bother Harry – but there he was, staring sideways at the doorway, barely visible in the dark.

Excitement overtook relief as Harry realized that if anyone knew about Regulus, it would be Phineas. 'Phineas,' said Harry, barely bothering to whisper at all as he moved to kneel on the bed, gazing at Phineas avidly, 'I need to know about Regulus Black. What was his middle name?'

Phineas was galvanized by the subject. He ran his hand through his beard and looked throughful. 'Interested in the old House of Black, are you? Regulus was a fine boy, a true heir to the Black family. Rash like his brother, unfortunately, but never gave his parents any trouble, unlike a certain _other_ Black I could mention –'

'Yes, yes, but what about his _middle name_?' asked Harry impatiently.

'Alphard,' said Phineas dismissively. 'I'm sure his mother would have liked to change it after all that business with –'

Phineas stopped; his audience had gone off to the other bed to shake Ron. 'Youth today,' he scoffed before leaving his chair and walking off to Hogwarts.

Ron tried to fend Harry off and go back to sleep, but once Harry's discovery made it through to his sleep-soggy brain, Ron and Harry nearly fell over each other getting downstairs again to tell Hermione.

Harry turned the doorknob to Hermione's room with aching slowness, Ron watching intently, and pushed the door open. But the door groaned loudly, and within seconds someone in the room shot a bolt of blue light toward them. Harry managed to cast a Shield Charm, and it bounced off harmlessly – but the next bolt was directed at Ron, who hadn't brought his wand.

'YEEARGH!' yelled Ron. In twos, small bats flew out of his nostrils and flapped around his head, biting him on the face. He flailed about and smacked into a wall, and Mrs Black's portrait started bellowing from below.

Ginny turned on the lamp by her bedside. 'Ron!' she said, slipping out of bed and moving past Harry into the hall. 'Hold still!' Meanwhile, Hermione pushed herself up groggily, staring into the doorway at Harry with an unamused look on her face.

'Harry!' said Remus crouching on the landing with his wand raised. 'What –'

Remus stopped as Ginny cast the spell to relieve her brother of the Bat-Bogey Hex. 'What are you two doing?!' she demanded.

As Ron was still holding his nose in shock, Harry felt obliged to reply. 'We, erm, wanted to talk to Hermione.'

'At this hour?' Ginny demanded. It was only then that both she and Harry came to realize that she was wearing a rather short, silky summer nightgown; Ginny crossed her arms; her face flushed just like Harry's.

'Erm…uhmmm…'

'Oh, never mind, Ginny,' said Hermione, coming out of the room wearing a dressing gown. 'I _assume_ they have a good reason.' She glared.

'Indeed,' said Remus tiredly. 'But if you wouldn't mind closing off Mrs Black's portrait before you get to talking…?'

'M'kay,' said Ron nasally, still holding his nostrils together. As he and Harry walked downstairs, he commented, '_Bloody subtle._' Harry wasn't sure if he meant them or Ginny.

The incident was entirely forgotten, at least by Hermione, when Harry and Ron told her about Harry's find. Ginny had grumpily gone back to bed.

'I know what you're thinking, and I've already thought it,' declared Harry. 'We've already checked the people killed by Voldemort –'

'– but Regulus wasn't there!' she interrupted. 'So how did he die? Maybe the Ministry's records were mistaken? But it doesn't really matter, does it? What matters is where he put the locket.'

Ron frowned. 'If you were Regulus Black and you thought you were about to be offed by Death Eaters, where would you put it?'

'Somewhere safe,' said Harry. 'Where would be safe?'

'No, no,' said Hermione, shaking her head impatiently. 'He was going to _destroy_ it, remember? And he didn't expect Voldemort to be looking for it any time soon. He would have kept it close.'

'Not too close,' added Harry. 'If it was with him when he died, the Death Eaters might have found it.'

'So he would have kept it somewhere other than on his own person, somewhere he had easy access to. Maybe he managed to destroy it, and maybe he didn't. He could have put it in a vault at Gringotts, or a secret hiding place of his own.' Hermione sighed. 'Now it feels like we're no better off than we were before.'

Ron nodded in agreement. 'Seems that way, but at least we can check the obvious places first. Maybe we'll get lucky,' stated Ron. 'So…how about here?'

'Here?' asked Hermione.

'Grimmauld Place,' said Ron. 'He lived here, didn't he? He could have stashed it here.'

Harry waited for Hermione to respond, but she just chewed on her lip. Ron said, 'Erm…maybe he wouldn't have wanted his parents to get in trouble…?'

'No, he _was_ planning on destroying it, and Voldemort had no way of knowing it wasn't where it was supposed to be…so I see no reason why he _wouldn't_ have kept it here. It makes perfect sense, actually…' said Hermione, deep in thought.

A look of horrified realization crossed over Hermione's face. 'Oh no. Oh no,' she said quietly, looking down at her lap, frantically contemplating some mysterious idea.

'What is it?' Harry prompted her.

Hermione looked up. 'Harry, if it _was_ here…we cleaned up everything, didn't we?!' Another thought struck, and this time Hermione looked tearfully at her hands. 'Oh dear…I think we…Harry, it was in the drawing room.'

Harry blinked. 'What?!'

'It was right in all our hands,' she said in almost a whisper, her voice choked. 'W-we were trying to get it open, remember, but we couldn't! It was one of the things we chucked from the drawing room, right here in this house!'

Ron said an extremely nasty curse word, but Hermione didn't even acknowledge it. 'We threw it out,' Harry stated in disbelief.

They'd had the Horcrux, and they'd thrown it out.

'Wait, let's not panic,' said Hermione, breathing in to regain her composure. 'Let's suppose we threw it out. It's either in a dump somewhere covered in two extra years of trash or someone else in the house rescued it.'

Harry realized immediately what Hermione was driving at. 'Kreacher!'

And to everyone's surprise, Kreacher appeared, just like that. His gnarled old body pressed flat to the ground as he snogged the floorboards. 'Kreacher is home, yes, finally home…'

'Kreacher,' said Harry curtly.

Kreacher looked up at Harry with his usual loathing, and snarled as he said, 'Yes, master?' Before Harry could speak again, Kreacher muttered, 'Master is back in the mistress' house, oh, poor mistress, Kreacher is sorry, Kreacher does not _want_ to obey the horrible boy –'

Harry glared. 'Kreacher, shut up.'

Kreacher's mouth slammed shut and stayed that way, as though his jaws were glued together. 'There was a locket in this house, in the drawing room. Did you take it?'

Kreacher said nothing, raising his head triumphantly at Harry and pressing his lips even more firmly together. Harry sighed. 'You can talk now. Tell me if you took the locket.'

Bitterly, Kreacher said, 'Kreacher found mistress' things – the things mistress' ungrateful, horrible son threw out – and hid them away in a hidey-hole place.'

Hermione grinned gleefully. 'That's wonderful, Kreacher! Where is the locket now? Could you bring it here?'

Kreacher scowled and muttered, 'The Mudblood girl thinks _she _can give Kreacher orders –'

'Kreacher, do what Hermione says,' ordered Harry.

'Harry, no!' protested Hermione. 'I don't want Kreacher to obey me just because he has to. It's barbaric!'

'Oh for – just get the locket from wherever you put it and bring it here, now.'

Kreacher's face took on a very twisted look that Harry thought might be as close as he could come to a smile. 'Kreacher's _very sorry_ that Kreacher can't get master the locket now.'

'Why not?' asked Harry darkly, ready to throttle Kreacher by this point, as he didn't sound sorry at all.

'Beca-ause,' he began in a sing-song voice, rocking back and forth on his gnarled feet, 'Kreacher doesn't have the locket now. Kreacher saved the most important things – let him have the linens and the silverware and the young masters' things, kept the mistress' robes hidden…couldn't lose those…'

'YOU WHAT?!'

'Harry, shush!' said Hermione. 'It's still very early.'

'Let _who_ have the locket?' demanded Ron.

'Mundungus!' said Harry loudly and with vitriol. 'I'll kill him.'

'At least it's not in the trash!' pressed Hermione. 'Calm down. We can still find it. Thank you for your help, Kreacher.'

'Yeah, now sod off – but stay _inside the house!_' he amended, remembering Sirius' sad, fatal mistake. Kreacher hissed with displeasure, but scuttled away. 'We need to talk to Mundungus.'

'It does seem that way.' Hermione sighed. 'I'm going back to bed. _We may as well_, Harry,' she said, forestalling any argument. 'Mundungus certainly won't be awake now, and we'll have to ask Remus about where to find him.'

'Fine, fine,' said Harry. 'We're just _so close_!'

'It'll wait a few hours,' replied Hermione wisely. 'Goodnight.'

'Do you seriously expect to sleep?' asked Ron, disbelieving.

Hermione paused and looked uncomfortable. 'Well, not really, but Ginny's probably still awake, and it will only look stranger if I don't go back.'

'Invite her out here, then,' offered Harry. 'We'll play Exploding Snap or something.'

'Well…' Harry could tell she was tempted. '…All right.'

At that point Luna wandered into the room. 'Good morning,' she said. 'I wouldn't mind playing too.'

'What're you doing up?' asked Ron.

Luna smiled, bare toes curling up against the cold floor. 'Oh, I don't sleep very much.' She sat down on the side of Harry's bed and swung her feet. 'What are you three up to?'

'Nothing,' they all objected at once.

_Not suspicious at all_, thought Harry sarcastically.

* * *

Remus was sceptical about their fabricated, flimsy reason for wanting to find Mundungus, and rightfully so, but he was more worried about their insistence on going alone. Ultimately he could only warn them that Mundungus floated around and would be hard to locate – he hadn't been in frequent contact with the Order since Dumbledore's death. 'Don't let yourselves be seen, and be careful,' said Remus.

'We will be, thanks!' called Harry, already on his way out the door, Ron and Hermione close on his heels.

'So how are we going to get there?' asked Hermione. 'We can't Apparate anywhere if we can't visualize the location, and we've never been to Mundungus' house.'

'Er.' Harry hadn't thought of that, and he'd feel like an idiot going back inside to ask Remus to help them out.

'Why are we going to his house anyway?' asked Ron.

Hermione frowned. 'What do you mean?'

Smirking, Ron said, 'Come on, this is Mundungus we're talking about. He doesn't seem like the sort to hang around at home. If _I _were Mundungus Fletcher, I know where _I'd_ be at this time of day.'

'Really?' asked Hermione curiously. 'Where?'

'Diagon Alley,' Ron replied. 'Dad,' – Ron skipped a beat, but continued quickly – 'he said he caught Mundungus down there sometimes trying to hawk fake protectives. With any luck he'll be there today. Or someone down there'll know where he could be.'

It seemed to Harry as good a place to start as any, so the three of them Apparated (Ron hesitantly) to Diagon Alley.

* * *

Looking out at the new face of Diagon Alley, Harry felt a tug on his heart as he remembered how it had looked when he'd first seen it: full of activity, commotion, and all sorts of amazing magical things. Now it was worse than it had been the year before. There was not another soul in Diagon Alley aside from the three of them for as far as Harry could see, and some of the shops were boarded up – but at least the boards covered parts of the worn posters of Death Eaters plastered everywhere.

'It's gloomy,' said Hermione quietly, likely feeling the same about it as Harry.

'We – we should stop by the joke shop before we go,' said Ron, looking down the alley. 'Fred and George say it's still doing well – except they're selling more of their important stuff now.'

'I hope they're careful about who buys it,' Hermione replied stiffly.

'Er, yeah,' said Ron, shifting uncomfortably. 'I reckon so.'

Harry took a cursory glance further down the street. 'I don't think Mundungus is here. There aren't any people to sell to.'

'Let's just go,' insisted Hermione. 'I don't want to be here.'

'Fine,' agreed Ron, though he looked a little disappointed. 'Where to next, Harry?'

Ron and Hermione looked at him. Harry tried to think of something. 'How about Hogsmeade? At least we've seen him there before,' he suggested.

Off they were to Hogsmeade. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he saw people walking about, but also pulled his hood a little more firmly over his head, not wanting to be noticed. 'I suppose we should try the Hog's Head first,' he said, thinking that Mundungus was absolutely the sort of person who would hang around there.

The Hog's Head, in complete contrast to Diagon Alley, was booming – but considering the sort of clientele it attracted, Harry didn't consider this a particularly good sign. There were the usual cloaked and scheming patrons, so they would blend in nicely.

Harry went up to the bar and ordered Butterbeers for himself, Ron, and Hermione. 'Thanks,' he said as he took them. Up to that point, the barman hadn't looked up at him, but Harry realized belatedly that people probably didn't thank him very often in this place.

'Well well,' said the barman in a throaty voice. 'I know who you are. This ain't the place for your sort.'

Harry was bothered about being recognized, but he couldn't leave now. He felt Ron shifting beside him to get to his wand. Trying to sound confident, Harry said, 'I'm looking for someone.'

'You looking for someone's no good for my business.'

'The sooner I find him, the sooner I'll leave,' retorted Harry. He handed Ron and Hermione their Butterbeers and slid up onto a bar stool; then Harry leaned across the bar and, in a deep, threatening tone, said, 'Mundungus Fletcher. Have you seen him?'

The barman didn't act impressed. He took hold of a particularly dirty glass and rubbed at the inside slowly with his long grey beard, and Harry tentatively set his Butterbeer down, not too keen on drinking it anymore.

'Dung's not been round for a while,' the barman said casually. Then he fixed Harry with a stern look. 'You're alone?'

'_We're_ with him,' said Ron.

The man scowled and poured another drink for a hunched fellow insistently tapping on the table. Then he got closer to them and said, 'Tell you what: I see him, I'll send him your way.'

The man who the barman had just served turned to them and, in a familiar voice, said, 'Eh, don't mind it.'

'Mundungus!' said Harry, rather loudly.

Some people in the bar turned to look, and Mundungus made a quieting gesture. 'Don't go making a scene!' he whispered. 'A bloke could get in trouble being seen with you! Whatcha want? Someone send for me? Shouldn't 'ave sent _you_ –'

'No one sent me,' replied Harry. The patrons who had turned to look at them were still looking, and some were moving closer. Harry took out his wand, tried to look casual and unthreatening, and whispered, '_Muffliato._'

Then, confident they couldn't be overheard, Harry grabbed Mundungus' mangy coat and said, 'I need to know what you did with the stuff you nicked from headquarters.'

Mundungus looked down uncomfortably. 'I 'aven't took anything since Dumbledore gave me a talking-to about it. Don't you 'ave more important things to worry about?'

'You're not in any trouble,' said Hermione to reassure him, 'but we really need to know what happened to a certain locket. It's important.'

'Eh? That? Sold it to Borgin and Burkes.'

'Borgin and Burkes,' repeated Harry.

Ron groaned. 'You're joking.'

'Nope. Got ten Galleons for it,' he said proudly.

Hermione sighed. 'How ironic.'

After releasing Mundungus, Harry pushed himself off the stool and walked out, too disgusted to say another word. Once they were outside, he said resignedly, 'Back to London, then.'

None of them were pleased about the prospect of going to Knockturn Alley, particularly since Borgin had seen Hermione before. Furthermore, Ron was obviously a Weasley (and therefore too poor to appear legitimately interested in buying Slytherin's locket), and Harry was, well, Harry Potter.

They approached the entrance to Knockturn Alley with trepidation. 'Way I see it, Borgin'll just chase us out of the shop,' said Ron.

Hermione considered the situation. 'Hmm…maybe we _should_ go by the joke shop first after all,' she said.

Harry was incredulous. It was one thing for Ron to want to visit his brothers, but Hermione wanting to procrastinate when they had a lead? 'You're not serious?! We're so close!'

'Like Ron said, Borgin won't talk to us,' said Hermione firmly, 'but I suspect he _might_ talk to them.'

Ron blinked. 'Fred and George? Why?'

Hermione looked down, seeming reluctant to speak. 'I...It's just that I know enough about magic to know that not everything Fred and George have done has been completely above-board.' She turned away and started walking toward Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, unwilling to meet Ron's eyes.

Ron, miffed, followed her and asked, 'What do you mean by _that_?'

'Well…think about all they do. Fake wands, sweets that cause illness, explosives –'

'Fireworks!' insisted Ron.

'They still explode,' said Hermione. 'And what about the Decoy Detonators? The Darkness Powder? Those are just the things we_ know _about.'

'Yeah, but…' Ron trailed off, but his grim face was protest enough.

'But we can't tell them what we're up to,' insisted Harry.

'Of course not,' Hermione conceded. 'They'd do anything for you, Harry. You gave them the money to start their business. Just tell them you need a favour and say you can't explain just now.'

They soon came upon the joke shop. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes seemed as busy as ever, a lone island of activity in the otherwise morose place. But while Harry could still espy U-No-Poo and other gag items through the windows, there was also a Shield Charm Hat on prominent display. 'Looks like they've gone public with those,' said Harry, pointing at the window.

Hermione had gone a little pale. 'They're _advertising_ them?! What if a Death Eater finds out?'

'They're in the Order, so they aren't clueless about who's a Death Eater and who's not, and they've been pickier about who they sell to since Malfoy – look, see?' He gestured to the sign in the window:

_ALL ITEMS IN DEFENSE LINE_

_REQUIRE SORTING BAT IDENTIFICATION!!_

'Sorting Bat?' Hermione asked, curious. 'What's a Sorting Bat?'

Ron shrugged. 'I dunno.'

They walked inside. Verity, the Weasleys' assistant, was running the counter, so Harry figured Fred and George must be in the back. The three pushed their way through – but unlike the Hog's Head, people hiding their faces in Diagon Alley weren't normal, and the customers made way for them with some suspicion and whispers.

'Ex_cuse_ me,' said someone tapping on Ron's shoulder. Ron turned and saw George (or Fred) staring down menacingly at him. 'But you're – hey, Ron!' Loudly, Fred said, 'No one worry, just my little brother!'

The customers, many of whom had been edging toward the door, went back to their shopping. 'You look like a Death Eater!' he hissed, flipping Ron's hood off.

'Do not,' said Ron. 'We're not wearing masks.'

Fred scowled. 'People are jumpy. You don't need to be wearing a mask.' His expression turned to surprise as he flipped Harry's hood off. 'What're _you _doing here?!' he asked in a low whisper.

'We need to ask a favour,' replied Hermione, removing her own hood.

'Can we talk in back?' Harry asked.

'Of course, my liege.' Fred mock-bowed as much as he could in the crowded store and then led them to the back room. They saw George fiddling with something in the corner. 'Hey George, Harry's here! Actually, it's sort of good you've come,' he said to Harry. 'We've got something to show you.'

'_Almost_,' remarked George through gritted teeth. 'This bloody thing won't –'

'Aw, just show him the unfinished version, he'll get the idea!' said Fred enthusiastically. As George struggled to pick up something heavy, Fred said, 'We heard about that simulacrum of your mum, and it gave us a brilliant idea. It's nowhere near done yet, of course, but – erm, let me just help get –' Fred helped George to heave the heavy object up, but even with both working together, it refused to budge.

'Maybe you should just come over here,' suggested George.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved to the corner, where a large black box that looked as if it were made of solid metal sat obstinately on the floor. 'It's just a prototype. Watch. _Simulo!_'

A mist rose up out of a tiny hole at the top of the box. Just as the simulacrum of Harry's mother had done, but slower, it formed the shape of a person – more specifically, of Harry.

Or, at least, it looked a _little_ like Harry. The messy hair and the glasses were there, but the shape of his face was a little distorted. More obviously, it lacked Harry's signature scar on its forehead, and he was sure that he'd never had such a goofy smile on his face…

'We figure you could use it as a decoy – erm, once it's done –'

'And once it doesn't weigh a ton –'

'We're having a heck of a time with the scar –'

'A blood sample would be helpful,' finished George. The twins looked at him hopefully.

Dumbledore's words as they entered the cave to retrieve the locket rang in Harry's ears: 'Your blood is more important than mine,' he had said. Harry's brows furrowed unconsciously, and the twins noticed, for George said, 'Just a little.'

'A few drops,' said Fred.

'Well…' Harry's instinct was to say 'no', but he trusted Fred and George, and it seemed ungrateful to refuse to help them help him. 'All right.'

'Great! I'll get a knife,' said Fred too enthusiastically.

'Don't bother,' said George. He took Harry's hand and pressed his wand to Harry's finger. 'There.'

He moved his wand away, and Harry saw a drip of blood at the tip of his finger. It didn't hurt at all. 'That'll do. Fred?'

Fred produced a beaker and shook a few drops of blood from Harry's hand into it. 'Got it. Thanks. Hopefully we'll have this working in a few weeks –'

'Or months,' said George, not sounding too optimistic. 'It's a tricky bit of magic. Your mum must've been a whiz.'

Harry didn't have anything to say to that, but Hermione saved him from any awkwardness. 'What is a Sorting Bat?' she asked. 'It says in your window –'

'Ah, that!' George and Fred grinned at each other with a mischievous gleam. 'It took us ages to work out, but we think we got the hang of some of the magic that went into the Sorting Hat.'

Hermione's eyes widened; she looked extremely impressed. 'Really? That's amazing!'

'Yeah, it kind of is, isn't it? Anyway, instead of a Sorting Hat, we've got a Sorting Bat,' explained Fred.

George continued, 'Based on what we know of how the Sorting Hat sorts students, we trained the Bat to figure out which house a person ought to belong to.'

'You mean it reads minds?' asked Hermione.

'Yeah. That part wasn't too hard, actually. The Sorting bit was the trouble, but we got it sorted out,' said George.

'But the best part' – and here Fred and George grins widened – 'is that it's trained to take a swing at the head of any Slytherin who tries to buy our Dark Arts stuff!'

Ron's eyes gleamed. 'Brilliant!' he said.

'That's – that's horrible!' Hermione protested, her expression stormy. 'It's discrimination! Not all Slytherins are Death Eaters!'

The twins shrugged. 'Close enough. Besides, how many Slytherins have you heard of You Know Who offing?' said Fred.

'The rest of us need protection more than them,' added George.

'But not all Death Eaters are Slytherins, either,' Hermione pointed out, a note of triumph in her voice. 'Remember Wormtail?'

Fred gave her a dirty look. 'Yeah, we remember. What of it? So he's an exception.'

'Besides,' said George, 'just because he wasn't a Slytherin when the Sorting Hat sorted him doesn't mean he's not one now. People change, and he's definitely turned into a slimeball. The Sorting Bat judges based on how people are now, not based on what they _were_.'

'It's still unfair!' Hermione protested. 'And what if the Death Eaters use the Imperius Curse to get someone else to buy for them?'

'We can't cover everything!' said Fred angrily. 'We're doing the best we can! Would you rather us not sell to anyone at all? Then we'd go broke, and no one would be protected!'

'I'd rather you use your own judgement instead of relying on some stupid, irrelevant criteria like house!'

'We didn't come here to criticise,' said Harry to Hermione. He gave her a look, one that he hoped said, _we need them, so don't get them angry with us!_ She seemed to get the message, but she still scowled furiously. 'We need your help, actually.'

'Anything at all, sir!' said George. Fred and George saluted, not entirely jokingly, and Harry explained their situation without mentioning Horcruxes or Voldemort specifically – saying that he needed to find out if Borgin had a locket once belonging to Salazar Slytherin and, if not, who he sold it to.

'Sure, we've been in there before – but, erm, don't tell Mum,' said Fred, lowering his voice as if she were there to overhear him.

'We'll ask about it after work and get back to you tonight,' said George.

Harry wanted to urge them to do it sooner – he wanted to tell them that it was _really _important – but he didn't want to give anything else away. So, with a hesitant smile, he said, 'That'll be great, thanks.'

'Anything for the Chosen One,' said Fred.

'And for the person who gave us our big break,' said George seriously. 'And before you go, tell Verity to grab you a few behind-the-counter items, free of charge –

'– and if you try to pay, I'll clock you with the Sorting Bat myself,' Fred threatened.

Harry thanked them again, and the three walked back into the store. Harry got quite a few looks on his way to the counter; by the time he reached Verity, he was certain he could sense people whispering around him. 'Erm, Verity, is it?' The young witch stared right through him. 'Right, Fred and George told me –'

Before he could finish, she ducked down under the counter and started rifling through whatever was back there. He heard more than one unladylike curse word before she stood back up and pressed a cardboard box into his arms.

Harry was just turning to go when an explosive pain slogged his forehead. He was knocked back, jarred by the impact, and stumbled into Ron, who steadied him. 'What was _that_?' he asked, swaying from dizziness.

'Stop it!' said Verity. The Sorting Bat, which was positioning itself for a second swing, froze and laid itself across the counter. Verity stammered, 'I'm very sorry, sir – it's never malfunctioned before –'

'As far as _you know_,' said Hermione scathingly, taking the box from Harry.

'I'll take it back to Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley,' said Verity, flitting into the back room with the Sorting Bat.

They left hurriedly and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place; Hermione Apparated with Harry, since he was still feeling a little out of sorts.

As soon as they walked in the door, Ginny pounced on them. 'There you are! They left over an hour ago!'

'Who left? What's happening?' Harry asked, the expression on Ginny's face telling him it was something serious.

In a rush, Ginny said, 'An attack somewhere in the Muggle world. The Order is backing up the Ministry. He, I mean Remus, sent Neville off to look for you – they tried to send a Patronus to get you, but –'

'Where?' demanded Harry.

Ginny groaned. 'I don't know! He wouldn't say! He thought I'd try to follow them! He just said, 'Let Neville handle it.''

'Of all the rotten luck,' muttered Ron.

'We've had nothing _but_ rotten luck today,' said Harry, collapsing onto the couch beside Luna, who was reading an old issue of _The Quibbler_, 'but at least you didn't get called a Slytherin.'

Ginny seemed curious for a brief moment, but her interest was fixed on the recent attack. 'Where were you anyway? Why couldn't the Patronus find you?'

'Well, we _were_ Apparating around quite a lot,' said Hermione. 'Even a Patronus can't Apparate. Anyway, it's probably too late now.'

The door slammed open at that moment, and Mrs Black howled. Harry and the others ran to the entrance and saw a fraught Neville kicking off his shoes. 'There you are,' said Neville breathlessly. Remus followed close behind, then Bill, Tonks, and, of all people, Cormac McLaggen.

All asked Harry some variation of, 'Where have you been?' McLaggen was rudest, shouting over Mrs Black that Harry had 'chickened out'.

'I can't believe _he_ got to go!' Ron griped.

'You could have if you'd been around,' said Tonks, sounding very put out, 'but as you were off looking for Mundungus of all people…'

Remus, very pale and exhausted, said nothing, but he looked at Harry unhappily – almost disappointedly. Harry, feeling the need to do something, took it upon himself to struggle with Mrs Black's curtains for the second time that day.

'So this is headquarters,' said McLaggen, eyebrows raised in disbelief. 'Doesn't look like much.'

'What are you here for?' asked Ron, glaring.

'I'm part of the Order – that's all _you_ need to know,' replied McLaggen in snobbish tones. 'Potter recommended me, remember? Good thing too, since you're so useless.'

'Let's move to the drawing room,' said Bill, noticing that Ron looked ready to jump McLaggen. 'We'll brief you on what happened.'

It had been more than a minor skirmish – at least two giants, Bill said (McLaggen insisted it was four) and several Death Eaters besides – but there had been no sighting of Lord Voldemort. A few Muggles were dead, but heavy casualties had been averted by a swift Ministry response. 'Thankfully a wizard who lives in the area notified the right people in time,' said Tonks.

'Yes,' said Remus. 'Someone you know, Harry: Horace Slughorn.'

'Slughorn?!' said Ron. He looked like he'd smelled rotten eggs.

'See!' said Hermione. 'There are good Slytherins out there!' The rest of the room looked at Hermione with variations of bemusement, confusion, and annoyance (the latter came mostly from McLaggen and Ron).

'I'm not sure how disinterested his motives were,' said Bill dryly. 'He was in as much danger as anyone else.'

'He could have Apparated away!' argued Hermione.

'He did – how else do you think he told the Ministry?' replied Bill. 'And he didn't go back to help.'

The wind in Hermione's pro-Slytherin sails dissipated. 'Well…he did help just by saying something.'

'That he did,' acknowledged Remus. 'The Death Eaters left with the giants in the end; none seemed keen on confrontation. They were just looking for an easy target. There's been a lot of that lately – it's hardly newsworthy anymore, at least to us.'

'The Muggles are reporting it like mad,' added Tonks, 'but only as accidents and natural disasters.'

'I don't understand it,' said Remus, frowning. 'I was expecting more out of this attack. You Know Who has gained a great advantage since his attack on the Ministry' – he nodded to Bill, and it was understood as a quiet gesture of respect for Arthur Weasley – 'let alone since Dumbledore's death generally, yet he hasn't pressed it. It's as if he's waiting for something.'

'It feels more like lurking,' said Tonks darkly.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Whatever Voldemort was waiting for, it most likely had something to do with Harry himself. But he couldn't imagine what…did he just want Harry dead first and foremost? Yet Voldemort had been dragging his feet on that for a while too.

'Maybe –' Harry stopped, surprised by the sudden, focused attention of the room shifting to him. 'Erm, maybe he's got something else to do.'

Remus frowned. 'What do you mean?'

Hermione continued where Harry left off. 'He doesn't have as many followers as he used to, does he? Maybe he's taking time to build up his forces. Or maybe he wants to besiege the wizarding world using fear until it caves in.'

'That didn't work too well last time, did it?' Bill remarked.

Remus wasn't as sceptical. 'It might have, if not for Harry. And it's a low-risk strategy for hi As long as the Death Eaters keep people watching their backs with a small attack here and there, he hardly needs to do anything more himself – especially after making a mockery of the Ministry's security.'

'We should get Mad Eye's opinion too,' said Bill. 'He was an Auror back in the first war.'

'He said he'd stay behind a while to help clean up – and to investigate,' said Remus.

'Investigate what?' asked Ron. 'It was giants and Death Eaters, right?'

Remus sighed. 'You know Moody. Anyway, this speculation does us little good; the best we can do is try to find You Know Who's location so we can plan an attack. Unless we get on the offensive, we'll spend our time trailing Death Eaters across Great Britain and never quite making it in time.'

'Erm…maybe that's not such a good idea,' said Ron. He shot Harry a pointed look, and Harry understood at once. They couldn't attack Voldemort until they found and destroyed the Horcruxes – but Remus, unlike Dumbledore, didn't know that.

'I think what Ron means is that I'm not nearly ready to face him yet,' said Harry baldly. 'We all know it. I couldn't even fight Snape.'

'Training you is our first priority, Harry,' replied Remus firmly. Leaning over, he added, 'I hope you realize we have no intention of forcing you to fight him. There are certainly a lot of high expectations of you, but only you will decide when – or even if – you face Voldemort.

'But speaking of training, you had best get back to studying. You've wasted the whole day searching for Mundungus on shaky ground. I hope you don't intend to shirk Occlumency.' Remus eyed him carefully.

'I won't,' Harry assured him honestly. 'I'll get to it right now.'

And he did, though he couldn't concentrate well: two things took precedence over Occlumency in his mind. The first was the locket: regardless of who had it now, Harry would have to get it back. He doubted that even the fortune in his vault was enough to purchase it, so he'd have to steal it. He shrewdly tried to think of a way to snatch the locket unseen from Borgin and Burkes. Surely there were protections against Apparition...maybe Fred and George would have some ideas, and they were clever enough to keep their mouths shut about it…

The second worry on Harry's mind was a silly, stupid, old one, but it wouldn't go away. What if the Sorting Bat was right? The Sorting Hat had wanted to put Harry in Slytherin, but Dumbledore had said, long ago, that Harry's choice to be a Gryffindor overrode that.

But if Harry was still Slytherin at heart – as Fred and George's invention seemed to think – had his choices made a difference? Regardless of how much red and gold Harry wore and how many basilisks he slew, he would always be a Parselmouth, and that was Slytherin's signature trait, so there would always be some amount of Slytherin in him. Perhaps Harry would have been even more like a Slytherin if he hadn't chosen to be a Gryffindor…maybe he was only _slightly_ Slytherin now…

Yet the Sorting Bat thought he was Slytherin enough to whack, and that bothered Harry to no end.


	15. Gone Bad

**A/N: **Thanks again to my beta reader, Clara Minutes, for looking this over for me. This chapter is significantly shorter than usual, but on the plus side, something is finally done about that darn locket! Sort of...**_  
_**

**_Chapter Fifteen: Gone Bad_**

Harry waited impatiently from the bushes ten metres away from a large window of the Smith estate for the lights inside to go out. Hermione was behind him, whispering desperately that this was a terrible idea.

'Couldn't we just _talk_ to them?' she asked in near-panicked whisper.

Ron was also reluctant. 'Yeah, I mean, Zachariah is an arse, but maybe his mum and dad could be talked into giving it up –'

'We've already discussed all of this,' Harry replied impatiently. 'One: there isn't enough money in my vault to buy it off them if Fred and George are right about what they paid. Two: if we ask them for it and they say no, we'll have to steal it anyway, and then they'll definitely know it was us –

'But Harry –' started Hermione

'Three,' Harry interrupted, 'the sooner we have the locket the safer the Smiths will be!'

'We're talking about breaking and entering, Harry! Not to mention grand theft!' said Hermione. 'I –'

'If you don't want to help, go home,' Harry replied shortly. 'I'm going in. You two don't have to.'

'Of course we do!' said Hermione desperately. 'If you get caught, who knows what will happen to you?'

'My mind's made up. I've brought some of Fred and George's stuff along, and I've got a plan for getting in and out.'

'It's not a bad plan,' said Ron, sounding optimistic. 'We might get away with this if nothing goes wonky.'

'This is _wrong!_' said Hermione, her voice angrily rising well above a whisper. Both Ron and Harry turned to her and made shushing noises. 'You know I'll help, but I don't have to like it at all. It might not even be in the house, you know,' she added stubbornly.

'Who would buy something like Slytherin's locket and stick it in a vault?' asked Harry. 'It's only good for bragging about.'

'And the Smiths are the biggest bunch of braggarts next to the Malfoys,' said Ron. 'They're your typical stuck-up purebloods, except for not being Death Eaters.'

Hermione didn't have anything more to say, so she fumed from her place beside Ron in the bushes. A few minutes later, Ron muttered, 'Mum will kill us if she finds this out.'

'Not to mention Remus, but they _won't_ find out,' said Harry with a little smugness. 'We've already figured out how to disarm the wards, right?'

'Yes,' said Hermione with a sigh. 'Unfortunately.'

Harry glared at her a moment, then said, 'And getting through that giant window is easy enough if we make the glass disappear. After that, we've just got to be careful.'

'And what if they wake up and think we're Death Eaters and try to murder us?' grumbled Hermione. 'Or what if they wake up and realize who we are and _still _try to murder us?'

'Don't be so gloomy!' said Ron, with a tone that suggested he was trying very hard _not_ to think of those possibilities.

'Look!' said Harry. Finally, all light in the room across from them was extinguished. 'Brilliant, let's go!'

'Wait!' said Hermione. 'We should wait here for another half hour at least to be sure that they've all gone to bed!'

Ron groaned, unhappy with the boredom that entailed, but Harry agreed, and so they waited. It was around ten minutes past the time the lights went off when they noticed a brief flash at the window.

'What was that?' wondered Harry.

Hermione bit her lip and frowned. 'I …you didn't cast anything, did you?'

Harry turned to her. 'No. Why?'

She inclined her head. 'Look closely. The glass is gone. There's no reflection from the moon.'

Harry realized that Hermione was right; the window was gone! 'But _we_ didn't do it!' hissed Harry. 'And there's no one else –'

'Invisibility,' said Hermione instantly. 'There's no other explanation.'

Harry turned to the rucksack behind them, which was full of all the odds and ends he'd brought to aid them in their new life of crime. In it, of course, was his Invisibility Cloak, but these days it was difficult to fit more than one of them under it. 'I'll go in alone,' said Harry.

Hermione instantly brandished her wand and said, 'I can cast a Disillusionment Charm.'

'And me,' said Ron.

'Okay then. Let's go.' Harry stuffed a few of the things from the knapsack into his pockets, and Ron did the same. Then, with all of them invisible or disillusioned, they walked closer to the house.

Hermione waved her wand and cast a ward detection spell – the same one they'd used earlier to determine which wards were operating – but it turned up blank. 'Someone took the wards down already,' she whispered.

'I'll go through the window first,' said Harry. He stepped through the window, which was indeed missing its glass, and into the room.

'Ow!' said Harry quietly after someone stepped on his foot.

'Sorry!' Ron replied. 'Invisibility can be kind of tough – hey!'

Hermione had knocked into Ron. 'This won't work at all. Ron, you grab the back of Harry's cloak, and I'll grab the back of your robes. Then we'll be able to keep track of each other.'

After some fumbling, they managed to grab hold of some of each others' clothing. Harry led the way through the room and out the open door into a dark and foreboding hall. To their right was a large foyer leading to a grand staircase, and to the left was a wide hallway with several doors on either side.

At that moment, they heard the sound of furniture screeching against a wooden floor coming from down the hallway. There was one door left slightly ajar, so that seemed the best way to go.

They slipped down the hallway and rounded the corner to the room. Harry heard footsteps and the rumbling of more moving furniture inside, but he couldn't see enough of the room through the slit in the door, so he knew he had to push it open further – but that would put their fellow intruders on guard. Harry swung his arm behind him and managed to tap Ron somewhere on the chest, then slowly backed up. Ron and Hermione got the message and backed up a little as well.

From his safer position, Harry reached out his hand, pressed it against the door, and pushed it open with his fingers. The door was thankfully well-oiled; it hardly made a sound as it swung open, but there was a sudden silence from the room.

It was a decent-sized study, with a fireplace by the right wall and a bookshelf to the left. Above the fireplace and across from it were paintings; their inhabitants were moving and pressing against the canvas, but the intruders had silenced them somehow. Displaced furniture was scattered about the room, and a large rug was scrunched nearly in half, as though overturned quickly in a frantic search beneath it.

Harry was surprised when the door was slammed shut quickly by one of the intruders. Fast, loud steps hurried to the back of the room.

'_Hermione!_' he heard Ron whisper forcefully. 'What are you doing?'

Harry felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder; she was feeling her way around them toward the door. 'I'll open it. You two stay back.'

'No, Hermione –' started Harry.

'Shut up,' she said sternly. Harry was surprised enough not to stop her from turning the doorknob and shoving the door open. Afterward he heard her back hit against the wall on the other side of the doorway.

Whoever was in there knew they were here.

The silence in the room was more pronounced this time. Harry had been expecting a spell or at least a word by now, but the intruders weren't playing along. He inched closer to the door; the long rug in the hallway muffled his steps.

As he looked around the door he heard a ripping sound and saw the glint of a knife as it cut through the canvas of a large painting on the wall – its inhabitant was still silent, or perhaps it had already fled to another painting.

The position of one intruder was revealed. Harry cast a silent Stunner. Hermione got off a spell only a moment before.

A Shield Charm blocked Hermione's spell, and Harry's too.

The intruder they'd fired at shot another spell back, missing both of them. No one else in the room cast a spell – it seemed there was only one intruder, and one against three were fine odds to Harry.

He couldn't cast a non-verbal spell that could beat a Shield Charm, so Harry dared to speak.

'_Sectumsempra!_'

The intruder made a frightened noise and moved. The spell missed. Harry leapt into the room; a hex missed him by inches, but he didn't see the source.

Feet scuffled. It was Ron, Hermione, or the intruder. The room was too dark to see through his friends' Disillusionment Charms. Harry couldn't risk a hex.

The intruder was alone. He could. He threw a hex wildly and was lucky enough to hit Hermione. She was unconscious; her Disillusionment Charm was broken.

The intruder moved again before Harry's next spell could hit its mark.

'_Enervate!_' said Ron's voice. Hermione bolted awake.

At the same time as Ron's spell, the intruder cast a dangerous curse at the painting he'd been ripping. It caused a minor fiery explosion. Harry heard a metallic lock ping open moments before a roaring alarm sounded through the manor.

Harry aimed a quick spell at the intruder, but it missed.

'_Accio locket!_' said the intruder in a panicked voice.

The voice of the intruder clicked in Harry's brain. It was Draco Malfoy.

A little black box spun out from behind the painting and landed in Malfoy's invisible hand in less than a second. '_Sectumsempra!_' said Harry again.

This time his aim was true – and Draco gasped just loud enough to be heard. A knot of something like regret bundled up in Harry's stomach, but he could barely feel it over the pounding of triumph in his ears.

He moved toward Draco.

* * *

'And then?'

Harry stilled.

'He got away,' supplied Hermione.

'I think I'm rather clear on that already!'

'He threw a Decoy Detonator,' said Harry.

'Then Tonks came in and hexed us –' spoke Ron.

'And Malfoy made it to the fireplace –' said Hermione.

'Why didn't _we_ think to use some of Fred and George's stuff?' muttered Ron.

'It would have complicated things more,' said Harry. 'I couldn't see where you two were, and you couldn't see me –' Harry was halted by the look on Remus's face; he wasn't interested in this tangent.

Spread out on the table before them as they were interrogated by a furious Remus was the morning's _Daily Prophet_. It had been delivered only fifteen minutes ago. On the front page, in bold print, it said:

_HARRY POTTER GONE BAD???_

_At approximately 11pm last night Smith Manor was subject to a brutal home invasion possibly orchestrated by none other than 'Chosen One' Harry Potter. As of 2am this morning, Mr Potter is wanted for questioning by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

_The purpose of the break-in is, as yet, unknown. However, Aurors on the scene have stated that there are signs of forced entry and of a struggle. Nymphadora Tonks, the first Auror on the scene, added that 'while there aren't any signs of a classic Death Eater attack, we're keeping our options open'._

_So how does this add up to involvement by Harry Potter, one might ask? Your correspondent has word that an Auror on the scene located a knapsack in the bushes near the manor; it is believed to belong to Mr Potter. The Aurors would not release any other information on the knapsack, claiming that it is part of their ongoing investigation._

_'Mr Potter is wanted only for questioning at present,' said Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic, who graciously consented to make a brief statement for your correspondent in the early hours of the morning._

_The Minister also dropped a bombshell related to He Who Must Not Be Named's attack at the Ministry in July. 'We are still investigating Mr Potter's possible involvement in the Ministry attack,' he said. 'The warrant issued – for questioning only, as I said – is for both incidents. I am confident that Harry – a personal friend, as I've told you before – will walk into the Ministry of Magic offices as soon as possible to offer a full explanation.'_

_Zachariah Smith, resident of Smith manor, said that he knows Harry Potter personally. 'He's quite full of himself,' Mr Smith told reporters. 'He probably thinks he can get away with anything just because everyone says he's the Chosen One.'_

_Has notoriety gone to Mr Potter's head? Does he think he can get away with breaking and entering because the hopes of the wizarding world rest on his shoulders? Or is this a sign of a sinister alliance between Mr Potter and He Who Must (cont. page 3, column 2)._

'Let me see if I understand correctly,' said Remus with an air of disbelief. 'You found someone breaking into the Smith home and went in to investigate. Inside you discovered Draco Malfoy, who you nearly captured, but the alarm he set off sent a direct alert to the Aurors, who Apparated to the house. Then Tonks, who was thankfully the first Auror on the scene, attacked you two.' He pointed to Ron and Hermione.

'Malfoy and I were invisible,' said Harry.

'And when she looked closely enough to see who you two were, she distracted the other Aurors long enough for you all to Apparate out.'

'Er, that's about it, sir,' Harry agreed. Ron and Hermione were quiet.

Remus smiled coldly. 'And there's nothing more you wish to tell me?'

Harry's heart thumped. There was one obvious hole in their story: why they were at the Smiths in the dead of night in the first place. 'Um…'

Remus waited. Hermione and Ron were looking anywhere but at the two of them.

Finally, Harry said as neutrally as he could, 'That sort of depends on what you mean by me "wishing" to tell you something. There's stuff I wouldn't mind telling you, but I don't know if I should.'

Considering Remus's justifiable annoyance at the three of them, Harry wasn't expecting Remus to purse his lips and frown thoughtfully. He was quiet a few moments, then said, '…Does this have anything to do with why you won't say where you went with Dumbledore on the night he died?'

Harry was astounded by Remus's excellent guess. Remus must have noticed, for he added, 'More important people than I have been waiting for you to discuss it for some time now. This situation strikes me as being similar.'

Seriously, Remus said, 'I can't understand your need for secrecy with so little information, and I can't allow even you to become a liability. Tonks put her own career on the line – and one of our few remaining links to the Aurors as a consequence – to make sure you three didn't end up in a Ministry holding cell.

'Now, I'm still not used to giving orders, but I know that Dumbledore, in my situation, would most certainly _insist_ on some explanation.'

Harry swallowed. He couldn't argue with Remus's logic. Running after Mundungus Fletcher for no reason was strange, but breaking into Smith manor was criminal, and he couldn't expect the Order to cover for him without letting at least Remus know why he did it.

'Okay, I…I guess you're right…but I think it would be better not to tell the rest of the Order, just in case.'

_Just in case they're interrogated and_ _just in case they're spies_ went unspoken, but Remus agreed readily.

So Harry told him.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy pressed a cloth soaked in a healing tonic on her son's sore, stitched-up wound. She looked like she was boiling over. 'I can't believe you could be so foolish! What on earth were you thinking?! If the Dark Lord finds out…'

'He doesn't hear anything Snape doesn't tell him,' said Draco dismissively, 'and he won't tell. I'll be fine.'

'Severus will certainly want to know why you went to the Smiths',' muttered Narcissa, moving to sit on Draco's bed beside where he lay. She smoothed back his hair from his forehead tenderly. 'I don't know why you're being so secretive –'

'Snape isn't a good enough Legilimens to make me tell, and I don't intend to.' Draco sat up suddenly, smirking briefly before his mother's eyes caught up with his face.

'Even _he_ can't stop the Dark Lord from finding out that Potter is wanted by the Ministry!' cried Narcissa shrilly. 'He'll ask questions, he'll find out it was you –!'

'I doubt it. The Dark Lord is unconcerned with the Ministry so long as it does not inconvenience Potter overmuch,' said Snape from the doorway. Narcissa stopped cold. Even Draco looked down nervously. 'Nevertheless, Draco puts too much stock in my ability to protect him.' He looked to Narcissa, who chewed her lip and gazed back apologetically.

'Tell me, Draco: why did you go to the Smiths?'

Draco held Snape's gaze.

Snape looked again to Narcissa while still addressing Draco. 'Very well; continue on your quest to get yourself killed. So long as I've done my best to protect you, nothing else can be expected of me.'

'Severus –' started Narcissa, standing up.

'I'll let myself out,' he interrupted. He made a perfunctory bow and left the room, and presumably the lakeside cottage where Draco and his mother had been hiding since Dumbledore's murder.

Narcissa turned to her son, her face contorted in a mixture of anger and fear. 'We would both be dead by now without him! I need to find him and try to repair our relations. _You stay here!_'

Draco rolled his eyes as his mother flew out. 'If he's such a great friend, why hasn't he got Father out of Azkaban yet?' he muttered to himself, falling back onto the bed.

Draco was alone for the first time since he had returned from his encounter at the Smiths. His mood stormy, he grumbled, 'Like I would've gone there if I'd known Potter would have the same idea. They must think I'm stupid or something.'

'_I _don't think you're stupid!'

Draco turned slightly in bed at the voice, but didn't act alarmed. 'Oh. It's you. Aren't you supposed to stay at Hogwarts?'

Moaning Myrtle batted her eyelashes, trying to be coy. 'Oh, I don't _have_ to stay at Hogwarts! I just haven't had anywhere else to go for ages.'

'How did you find me?' Draco looked worried – he glanced around the room, then got to his feet and peeked behind the curtains. 'This place is supposed to be Unplottable...'

Myrtle pouted crossly. 'If you don't want me here, I'll just go!' She was ogling his chest, and clearly didn't want to leave.

'No, wait!' said Draco quickly. 'It's really important! I, er, don't want you to go – I just need to make sure no one else can follow you here, that's all! I'll be in lots of trouble if I'm found!'

'Well…' Myrtle frowned, tapping her chin indecisively. 'I wasn't trying to find you…this is where Olive Hornby tried to hide from me before the Ministry made me stop bothering her…Hogwarts has been so boring lately, I thought I might get one more good scare out of her…but I guess she's –'

'You won't tell anyone I'm here, will you?' asked Draco sharply. He gave her his saddest look.

Myrtle giggled and floated closer. 'You sound so miserable! Of course I won't tell! Poor, poor Draco…you got really hurt!'

Draco didn't contradict her. He lay back on the bed and poked a little at his wound. Myrtle got up closer and cooed over it. 'Was it one of those bullies from school?'

Draco smirked. 'Yeah, you could say that.' He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then asked, 'Say, do you want to see something?' He was already digging into his robes, discarded on the floor, before she could answer.

'I'd love to!' said Myrtle, looking around his shoulder keenly.

'Just don't tell anyone,' he instructed her, taking out a small black box.

He opened the box. Inside was a gold locket so shiny that it looked like new.

'It's Slytherin's locket,' he explained.

'Oooh! Where did you find it?'

'I stole it,' said Draco. At first he sounded proud, but by the time he got past the word "stole", he looked as though he had a bad taste in his mouth.

Myrtle cocked her head. She didn't look upset; on the contrary, she was smiling wistfully as though it were a romantic tale. 'And that's how you got hurt, right?'

'Yeah,' said Draco. 'I didn't know Potter wanted it badly enough to steal it…' He frowned at the locket, which was still nestled in the box. 'I wonder what the big deal is about this thing, anyway…first _him_, and then Potter…'

'Him? Him who?'

A flash of fear flew across Draco's face. 'Never mind. I don't want to talk about him. I just saw the word "locket" somewhere. I didn't even remember it until Potter told those Weasleys about it in the back of their shop…and I figured if Potter wanted it…'

As he spoke, Draco's hand was moving unthinkingly closer to the locket. His fingers touched it, and his eyes widened. He snapped his hand away as if scorched, and pushed his body away from the box so quickly that he slammed his shoulder painfully against the bed frame.'

'Draco?' asked Myrtle inquisitively. 'What's wrong?'

He was breathing slowly but deeply in and out, a pallid look of terror stretched across his features. 'That was…' He looked down at his hand, and seemed surprised that it looked normal. 'Touching it, it was...'

He moved back toward the locket and shut the top of the box as quickly as he could without even looking at it again. Then he pushed it into the bottom drawer of his dresser, covering it with clothes. 'Father told me that there's Dark magic, and then there's _Dark_ magic,' Draco remarked.

'That…was the _Dark_ stuff.'


	16. Of Two Minds

**_Chapter Sixteen: Of Two Minds_**

The days following the _Prophet's_ article were bleak. Harry was wanted by the Ministry but couldn't possibly turn himself in – after all, he was technically guilty. He wasn't any good to anyone in Azkaban.

But he wasn't useful to Scrimgeour in Azkaban, either, so Harry didn't think he'd really be sent there if he confessed his guilt. More likely he'd say he'd talked Harry into turning "good" again, and keep him as a useful publicity tool.

That would be almost worse than imprisonment.

'Lay low for awhile,' advised Remus, and Harry did so, if only because he simply had nothing better to do. The locket was probably lost forever now, and after nearly two months of effort spent finding it, failure was hard to bear well. By now, Malfoy had returned the locket to his master, and Voldemort would either hide it elsewhere or keep it nearby; in either case, Harry was even worse off than when he'd started.

The _Prophet_ seemed to be trying its best to discredit Harry – probably at the Ministry's directive – but it had met with little success so far, and its rhetoric had toned down once it realized that its readers weren't biting. Letters to the editor had poured in to the _Daily Prophet_ expressing, if not confidence in Harry, then at least the feeling that they had no choice _but_ to trust him.

Degrees of cynicism varied, but the messages were similar.

_'If Harry Potter has really defected, we may as well bend over and kiss our arses goodbye, so let's give him the benefit of the doubt, shall we?'_

_'If he is on our side, he won't be for long if you keep on like this!'_

_'If he wants to break into people's homes, I say let him have at it. He's welcome to my antique broomstick collection so long as he'll get rid of He Who Must Not Be Named!'_

Harry spent his days training with Remus and Moody and practicing what he learned. He fell into a routine, and Moody's lessons, at least, were yielding benefits; Harry had managed to best the retired Auror in their last head-to-head duel.

Ron and Hermione, and even Neville, who'd joined in, had improved as well, though they were not quite in Harry's league anymore. Hermione knew more spells and could perform more of them non-verbally, but there was _something_ missing. Privately, Moody told Harry, 'The thing that separates the decent duellers from the great ones like you and me can't be taught and can't be learned – instinct, creativity, strategizing on-the-fly!'

Harry was proud that Moody put Harry in the same league as himself. But duelling progress wasn't enough to stave off frustration, because he knew Moody was deliberately not using Legilimency against him, and the Death Eaters wouldn't be so generous.

If anything seemed more out of reach than Voldemort's Horcruxes, it was proficiency at Occlumency. Hermione had become moderately skilled at it, and Ron had picked up the basics, but Remus, the most patient of teachers, was becoming visibly frustrated with Harry's lack of progress.

Even so, Harry was surprised when Remus cancelled his Occlumency lesson altogether, at least for Harry. After all, if Occlumency was so important, it wasn't as if Harry could just give up, so Remus couldn't give up on Harry – could he?

'Someone has consented to give you a private lesson,' said Remus. 'I've spoken with him about your difficulties, and he's willing to give it a try…though I'm not sure how much help he can be…'

Harry didn't argue, though he was sceptical of the possibility that "someone" had a method for learning Occlumency that would work for him. He was starting to understand the frustration that a Squib must feel with magic generally, and it wasn't pleasant.

* * *

Slughorn had gone back to the way he'd lived before becoming a professor at Hogwarts, or so it seemed. He was staying in an obscure Muggle village in a cottage house. It wasn't nearly as grand as the home he'd been squatting in when he and Harry had first met – and Slughorn had abandoned his piano somewhere along the way.

Remus and Slughorn greeted each other formally, without hostility or cordiality. Then Remus wished Harry luck, and Harry was on his own. He could tell that Slughorn wasn't overly pleased to see him; his eyes kept dodging around the room, looking anywhere but at Harry.

'Well, well, Harry…good to see you again…' said Slughorn nervously, clutching his wand in both hands and holding it close. 'Lupin says you need some help with…er, Occlumency, was it?'

'Yeah,' said Harry, making himself at home and taking up a comfortable chair near Slughorn, 'but with all due respect, sir, I don't think there's anything you can do.'

At this, Slughorn finally dared to look at him. 'Oh ho, is that so?' he said, sounding mildly insulted. 'I'll have you know I've taught some of the best Occlumens you'll ever come across! Why, Severus said my lessons were invaluable!'

Harry's blood ran cold. He couldn't help glaring.

Slughorn rushed to cover his tracks. 'Well, I mean, not _that_ useful…surely, even without…'

Slughorn got out of his chair and paced the room, looking around at the piles of books he had with him. Harry thought he recognized some from the Hogwarts library, but didn't intend to call him on it.

'Here, here it is! This is what I wanted to show you! It's –'

'I've already seen that book,' stated Harry immediately. Slughorn's moustache drooped in dismay.

'I say…this is _the_ book on Occlumency…I thought perhaps Lupin had neglected…well, what on earth is wrong with you, then, if you can't learn it?'

'I don't know,' admitted Harry openly. 'I'm just no good at it at all.'

Slughorn sat back down in his chair with an _oomph_. He seemed to be considering something. 'I remember,' he began, 'that someone else came to me once who couldn't learn Occlumency. I tried to teach her the basics, but it didn't stick – and I found it amazing, because she was one of the most talented witches I'd met in years…'

Harry perked up at this, interested. At least he wasn't the only one who was awful at it. 'So what did you do?'

Guiltily, Slughorn shrugged his shoulders. 'Not much.'

Great. That was helpful. But before Harry could politely let himself out, Slughorn said, 'But you know, I told her that the best defence is a good offence…'

Curious, Harry watched as Slughorn aimed his wand, and another book flew into his hands. The book screamed Dark magic; the cover was made of black dragon hide, and it was kept shut by a heavy metal lock. Slughorn's eyes stared sharply into Harry's, his demeanour changed to that of a strict instructor.

Quietly, with the book placed ominously in his lap, Slughorn said, 'Legilimency is considered to be Darker magic than Occlumency – it can do terrible damage to a mind. I'm sure this isn't what Lupin had in mind when he brought you here…but if you know Legilimency, you'll at least be on an even playing field with your opponent. You'll be able to read his mind.'

His voice nearly a whisper now, Slughorn added, 'Even if you were good at Occlumency, few, very few, can conquer You Know Who's Legilimency. But, if you work at it, you could become a good enough Legilimens to break his Occlumency barriers. Yet breaking through his mental defences during a duel would be a tall order indeed…though you don't need access to the deepest thoughts in a duel, only the surface, so it is possible…'

Slughorn gave Harry a warning look. 'It's a power most wouldn't be capable of using wisely.'

Then the old man smiled, and Harry knew that Slughorn would give him the book. 'You're your mother's son, though. I can't imagine progeny of hers doing anything awful.'

_At least Slughorn's bloodline bias is useful for once,_ thought Harry.

'And,' continued Slughorn, his face conspiratorially suggestive, 'it's a good skill to have in life – makes it easier to tell who's with you and who's not.'

Harry schooled his features into agreement, but he had a feeling that Slughorn's idea of the moral use of Legilimency wasn't the same as his own.

They talked a while longer, with Slughorn showing him the proper motion and flick of the wrist for a beginning level Legilimency spell ('At more advanced levels, non-verbal casting is possible simply with eye contact,' he said, which Harry already knew). Soon, though, Harry and Slughorn both agreed that Harry could learn the rest on his own and come back to Slughorn with any important questions.

'…Wait,' Slughorn said as Harry was headed out the door. Harry looked back at him; he seemed conflicted for a moment, but then he handed Harry a golden, circular object. Harry opened it up.

'A compass?'

'Just keep the compass in your pocket, focus on my name, and you can Apparate to wherever I am,' said Slughorn. 'I'll be leaving here soon, so –'

'Why don't you stay at Order headquarters?' Harry asked immediately. 'If you're so worried about your life, then –'

'Not everyone can live under one roof, my boy,' he said obliquely. Even without Legilimency, Harry could tell there was a little more to it than that. However, he didn't have any good reason to press the point, so he let it lie. Amazed at how much better he felt now that he'd found a way around Occlumency, Harry returned to Grimmauld Place in high spirits.

* * *

…Which plummeted like a stone when he discovered what was going on in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place.

Half the Order – Bill, Charlie, Remus, Moody, Tonks, and others Harry couldn't recognize so easily – were holding a very loud, magically technical conversation, bandying about terms like 'incorporeal modus', 'direct disanimation,' and 'the Fifth Law of Synthology'. And in the middle of it all was the simulacrum of Harry's mum, smiling benignly.

Anger flared. 'What's going on?' Harry asked, grabbing Tonks, who was nearest to the door.

'Wonderful, you're here!' she said, ignoring his distemper. The conversation continued to swirl around them as she said, 'We've found out something interesting about what the Ministry thinks is in that thing!' Tonks casually directed her thumb toward the bag.

'What?'

'Something to do with Dementors – a way to trap them! The Ministry thinks it could take out You Know Who's _entire cadre_ of Dementors with whatever's in there! Minister Scrimgeour wants it badly. We're trying to pry it open.'

'And you didn't even think to ask first?!' Harry's voice sounded shrill.

'We didn't think you'd mind, you didn't even seem to want it!'

But Harry was already pushing his way into the middle of the room. Someone grabbed his shoulder, but he shrugged it off harshly and placed himself between the greater part of the crowd and the bag.

'Excuse me!' shouted Harry. The room slowly quieted down. 'What are you lot doing with my mum's stuff?'

'I just told you,' said Tonks with little patience.

'Yeah, you think some anti-Dementor thingy's in here, I know, but what are you going to do about it? Why does the Ministry even _think_ that?'

'We're not sure,' admitted Remus, 'but it seems they believe it firmly, for whatever reason. As for how we're going to get at the information, we're working on it. So far we haven't got much.'

A balding man Harry didn't recognize said, 'According to the Fifth Law of Synthology, there must be some crack in her, some imperfection we can exploit to tear her open.'

_Tear her open._ He couldn't help but look back at it, at _her_, and a chill ran down his spine at the thought of someone wanting to tear her open. The image of his mother being ripped apart by something like a werewolf came to mind.

'But _as I've noted_,' interrupted Bill Weasley harshly, 'that could very well destroy the information itself.' With something like affection, he looked at the simulacrum, and, in a low voice, said, 'She's the key to it, whatever it is. A beautiful bit of magic.'

The simulacrum responded to being called beautiful by winking at Bill. A couple of the attendees to the impromptu conference scribbled down notes. 'Second stage self-awareness,' muttered the balding man from before with awe.

'Maybe you should leave it with us. I promise we won't do anything drastic without informing you first,' Remus gently cajoled him.

_Well isn't that nice, seeing as it's mine,_ thought Harry unhappily. But if it was for the good of the cause, he couldn't reasonably take the bag and storm out, even though he wanted to deeply.

Then Harry noticed Remus's eyes finally falling on the book he was carrying, and decided it was definitely time to leave. He wasn't too sure that Remus would approve of his study of Legilimency, and there was no point in starting a conflict.

Ron, Hermione, and Neville had gone out with Mrs Weasley to buy some necessary items –like food – for Grimmauld Place. Harry set the large Occlumency book down on his bed with a thump and thought about whether he wanted to start studying or not. But it was too loud downstairs, and he knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate, so he decided to see what Ginny was up to.

He knocked on the door to her bedroom. A few seconds later the door opened. Grumpily, Ginny answered the knock, and said, 'What?'

'Er –'

But her expression changed immediately, as though she were relieved it was him. 'Oh good, it's you. Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I'm not in the best of moods lately, and Hermione's been getting on my nerves a little. Come on in.' She moved away from the door, and Harry walked in.

He suddenly felt uncomfortable about being in Ginny's room, but she'd already shut the door, so it was a little late to leave without being very impolite. 'Er, so, how – how're you doing?' he asked, casting around for a neutral subject.

'I'm fine,' she said blandly. 'Nothing going on. Just bored.'

'Yeah, well, you won't be bored for long. You'll be going back to school soon,' said Harry, and even before the words left his lips he knew it was exactly the wrong thing to say.

'Did Hermione put you up to this?' asked Ginny sharply, her eyes probing Harry's own.

Harry had no idea what she meant. 'Wh-what? No!'

But Ginny took Harry's discomfort as an admission of guilt. Stormily, she stated, 'You can tell her to mind her own business! At least _she_ gets to be useful! Luna and I are kept in the dark about everything just because we're one silly year younger than the rest of you! Even _Neville_ gets to stay here, and I could out-duel him easily!'

Harry wasn't so sure, given that Neville had been getting extra lessons with him and Ron and Hermione, but telling her that was obviously not the best idea. 'Look, Hermione really didn't tell me anything! I swear!' he protested.

At that moment, Luna opened the door and walked in. 'Hello Harry,' she said with a smile. 'We got our school assignments today, did you hear?'

Ginny sat down on the side of her bed angrily, not looking at Harry. 'Er, that's great,' said Harry, trying to sound a little enthusiastic for Luna's sake, since she really did look excited. 'Where are you going?'

'Durmstrang!' said Luna immediately. With some sadness, she added, 'And Ginny is going to Beauxbatons.'

'It's completely stupid, I don't even speak French, and I'd learn much more by staying here!' Ginny declared.

'They've arranged some classes in English for Hogwarts students,' replied Luna reasonably.

Ginny fumed in silence. Harry left as quickly as he politely could, realizing that this wasn't the best time to talk to her. Even if Harry wanted Ginny to stay – which he didn't, because she would be many times safer out of the country – it wasn't up to him.

The wisdom of staying out of it was reinforced when, after dinner, a shouting match between Mrs Weasley and Ginny carried very clearly up the stairs.

'I'M NOT GOING! IT'S RIDICULOUS!'

'YOU MOST CERTAINLY ARE! WHAT ON EARTH WOULD YOUR FATHER THINK?!'

'PITY HE ISN'T HERE TO SAY! HOW CAN I LEAVE WHEN HIS MURDERER IS WALKING ROUND FREE?!'

'_HE'S NOT DEAD!_'

'_HE MAY AS WELL BE!_'

At this point Harry sound-proofed the room with a spell. _It's not my business,_ he firmly informed his brain. _They've got to work it out for themselves._

Hermione ran in the room shortly after. 'Good God, I can't take it,' she said. 'I only meant to help –'

'Don't,' suggested Ron.

* * *

Late in the evening, as Harry buried his nose in the Legilimency book, he tapped the simulacrum's bag with his toe, oddly comforted by its presence. It had been kindly returned by Tonks; the Order hadn't found a safe way to disarm the simulacrum's protections without doing exactly what the simulacrum wanted – ask whatever question it existed to answer. So they'd gone at it for an hour, unsuccessfully asking every question related to Dementors that they could come up with.

And then Harry had tried, quietly, alone in his room, to ask the right question. He hadn't asked anything about Dementors; there had still remained a tiny, hopeful part of him that wanted the simulacrum to be a message from his mother meant for him, even if that seemed unlikely.

'Is there something my mum wanted to tell me?' he had asked her in a whisper.

'No,' she had said. 'Sorry.' That sad look had come over its face, and Harry had found himself replacing its deadened eyes with sparkling, true ones in his thoughts.

The politeness had become irritating after a few more similar questions, so he'd stopped, his final hopes dashed, and now the bag sat quiescent at his feet. He focused on each individual page of the old text; it sat heavily in his lap, the leather bindings warm on his bare legs in the heat of summer. His eyes dried from lack of blinking, but Harry hardly noticed.

When his eyes protested firmly that they could read no more, Harry shut the book and lay back in bed, closing his stinging eyes, and thought of Ginny. He wondered if she was lying awake atop the blankets in that summer nightgown he'd seen her in before, or if all the frustration she'd used up on her mother had tired her enough for her to fall into a restless sleep.

Her unhappiness bothered Harry a lot – but she wasn't an adult by the standards of wizarding Britain, and Mrs Weasley was unlikely to budge from her position. She wanted Ginny kept safe abroad, and so did Harry…

And that was his last thought before he drifted off. The book was splayed open across his chest, and its rough pages itched against his skin even as he slept.

* * *

Ron and Hermione, the only people he'd told about the Legilimency book so far, were both supportive of his efforts. He was a little surprised that Hermione didn't mind him learning a subject that skirted the lines of Dark magic, but she pointed out that he really _was_ utterly useless at Occlumency, and they simply didn't have years for him to learn it, so any decent shortcut had to be explored.

'It's only rational,' she had said, though she looked like she was swallowing bitter medicine. Ever since, Harry had got the impression that she was avoiding eye contact with him, which he thought was silly, because he was nowhere near skilled enough to read minds that way.

Yet.

Over the next few days, whenever Harry saw Ginny, or even passed by the door to her room, he hesitated, wondering if _this_ was the right time. He needed to talk to her before she left, because he could easily be dead before she returned from Beauxbatons, and he didn't want them to part – possibly forever – on bad terms.

But the "perfect" opportunity never came, partly because he was making excuses every time a decent chance came along and perhaps because of his intensive Legilimency study on top of everything else he was doing to prepare himself.

So on the day before she left, he summoned up all his courage, repeated in his head a few lines of dialogue he had practiced, and knocked firmly on the door of the bedroom she shared with Hermione.

His heart dropped a little when Hermione opened the door, but before she could speak or he could think twice, he said, 'Excuse-me-Hermione-but-I'd-like-to-talk-to-Ginny-alone-please.'

Hermione's head turned. Softly, she asked, 'Ginny, Harry would like to talk to you alone, is that okay?'

He didn't hear her answer, but Hermione opened the door wider and left as soon as Harry stepped in. Ginny was reading the sixth-year's Transfiguration textbook, which Harry took as a good sign.

She didn't look up as Harry awkwardly sat down beside her. He grasped at his rehearsed lines like slippery eels and managed at last to grip one. 'I want to wish you luck at Beauxbatons. I'll miss you, but I'm really glad you're going, because I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to you.' Harry was pleased with how calm he sounded; his voice hardly shook at all.

'I'm not a damsel in distress, Harry,' replied Ginny, still staring at her textbook, though her eyes weren't moving over the lines.

'I know. You're a really strong person, and I respect you. But all the same, I mean what I said,' he responded, heartfelt.

Ginny put her book down and looked at him, her face set with determination. Without raising her voice, but with a distinctive seriousness, she stated, 'You didn't stop me from helping before. Remember the Department of Mysteries? If I'd known that going out with you would make you so protective that you wouldn't even care what I thought, I'd never have gone near you.'

Harry's prepared speech went out the window like a horde of bats. 'That's not fair and you know it! I was an idiot then!'

'I think you're being an idiot now,' she said, her temper more in check than Harry's. 'If you hadn't brought us along with you that day you'd have died, and if you die because I'm not there to save you, because you thought it would be better to keep me safe in France, I'll never forgive you.'

This wasn't going right. 'I didn't come here to argue with you.'

'No, you came here to patronize me.' She turned back to her book.

Harry was furious. He stomped toward the door, and before he left, he coldly said, 'Actually, I came here to tell you I love you, but it seems sort of stupid now. I don't know what I was thinking. Goodbye, Ginny.'

He slammed the door and went up to his room. He didn't bother to even say goodbye to her when she left the next day. The regret he felt channelled itself into his Legilimency studies, and he was soon good enough – or at least felt he was – to challenge Moody for real.

* * *

Mad Eye Moody was all too happy to oblige Harry in his request that he fight as dirtily as he could. Hermione's eyes went the size of doorknobs, and Ron's mouth hung open in horror. Neville grinned and said, 'Awesome.'

Remus seemed happy as well, and he conjured a chair in the corner to sit in while he watched. Harry half-expected snack foods to appear out of thin air, and said so jokingly, but Moody glared at him, telling him they wouldn't duel at all if he didn't take it seriously.

Their battle was punctuated by gasps and cheers from the sidelines. Despite his practice with Ron, Harry still found it amazing to look inside another person's mind, even if only on the surface level where actions were decided. He blocked or dodged all of Moody's hexes and curses and annulled his creative transfigurations of the furniture into dangerous objects or beasts.

But he hadn't worked out how to outwit Moody, either, since Moody could see exactly what Harry could, until Harry got an idea. It was a little mad, but Harry realized it might just give him the tiny advantage he needed.

Not even bothering to hide what he was casting, he blocked Moody's last hex and, before he could cast another, cried, '_Serpensortia!_'

As he cast the spell, he focused as hard as he could on making the biggest snake possible. The snake that popped out of his wand was a good ten feet long, and Moody's real eye bulged.

'_Trip his legs!_' Harry hissed to the snake while Moody was distracted.

Harry was lucky; if the snake had emerged but a foot further away from Moody, the old Auror would have managed to dispel it before it could do anything at all. But instead, moving like lightning, the snake shot around his real leg, and his wooden one clunked, trying to counterbalance. It failed, and an instant later, Moody toppled over.

Triumphantly, Harry cast the simple, harmless hex they were using to symbolize the Killing Curse before his opponent hit the ground – and he could have sworn that Moody was smiling. He nodded slightly to the snake in thanks, though he knew it couldn't understand, and dispelled it himself.

Ron, Hermione, and Neville whooped in celebration and tackled Harry to the floor. Remus clapped, his expression chagrined.

Moody bore Harry no ill will at all, and clapped him hard on the back once they were both on their feet again. 'That _was_ clever, Potter! You used your strengths! Brilliant strategy! I'm damned if you won't make the best Auror of your age!'

Harry grinned from ear to ear like a dope. He was about to inform Moody that it had been entirely luck when everyone's attention was caught by a joyful screech that was, without a doubt, Mrs Weasley.

'OH MY GOODNESS! OH MY GOODNESS! OH, THIS IS _WONDERFUL!_' Mrs Weasley was still gushing when they got to her, alternately hugging and hopping around Bill.

Her face bright pink, Mrs Weasley told them the news. 'Bill is pregnant! I mean, Fleur is pregnant – but with Bill! Oh, where is she?!'

Bill's face, however scarred, couldn't hide that he was morose, which seemed totally inappropriate for the situation. 'She's at home. We had a fight.'

'What?!' Mrs Weasley talked over him. 'Why? What on earth – why?!'

'Never mind, Mum. It's personal.'

But Mrs Weasley's stores of patience had been run through entirely by Ginny, and she hadn't yet replenished them. 'Bill Weasley, I _demand_ to know! You can't just tell me I'm expecting a grandchild and then say you and Fleur are breaking up!'

'I didn't say that,' answered Bill impatiently, 'I said we had a fight.'

'What sort of fight?'

Bill crossed his arms. Mrs Weasley glared. Bill gave out first. He sighed, and said, 'I want her to go back to France. All things considered, it seems right to me. We can't risk the baby. But Fleur disagrees, and we had a big row, so I left the house to cool down and to tell you the good news.'

'I completely agree with you!' said Mrs Weasley fervently. 'This is no place for a woman with a baby to think of, not at all –'

'That's what I said!' Bill replied, and the two of them became a feedback loop of agreement with Bill's opinion and outrage at Fleur's objections. Moody muttered his own congratulations before he walked out, and whispered, 'Nice Legilimency,' to Harry as he passed by.

'Occlumency lesson, Harry?' enquired Remus, leading the way back to their practice room.

'Er, all right,' he agreed half-heartedly, if only to satisfy Remus and get away from Bill and Mrs Weasley's argument with the absent Fleur.

It seemed awfully stupid to him. Fleur had been doing a lot of information-gathering for the Order, and she was their best recruiter, especially with men. She was an exceptional dueller too – had been since Harry met her. Fleur could look after herself as well as anyone else. And none of them were really safe anywhere, because Voldemort wasn't likely to stop at the English Channel –

_Oh._

* * *

That night, after forty-two drafts, Harry sent Hedwig away into the sky with a letter for Ginny.

* * *

Fred and George were right: Dark magic texts were very oddly written. In some sections the Legilimency book was clear and crisp and easy to learn from, but in others it rambled along dully, occasionally including soap opera-like interludes about the author's various revenges on past paramours.

And he'd had a _strange_ love life. Harry was skimming through one such passage when a single word grabbed his attention. He traced it back to the beginning of the sentence:

_I smote the jezebel's gigolo without brutish application of force or the vulgar use of tongues, exacting upon him an end worse than Death through the excavation of his Mind, nesting within his Mind a Mindscape moulded in mine image. This scheme I cannot advise, for though the jezebel's Mind was to be entrapped there for ever until the natural death of her inamorato enduring Hellish torments, another of her felonious lovers Rescued her, for the Mindscape cannot be closed until Death. _

_After the wench's escape, the Felon espied the form of my vault key in the Mindscape and copied it, for I had gone to my vault that day, and it is impossible to avoid completely an accidental scattering of thoughts. Providence allowed me to intercept him before he could make me a pauper, and I visited upon him a most Painful Death._

'It can't be closed?' Harry said aloud, staring intently at the words and rereading the passage over and over to make sure he was right.

The mindscape Lord Voldemort had created within Mr Weasley's mind! Harry thought back to it; there had been all sorts of items, seemingly random, that Voldemort wouldn't have placed there on purpose. They were a sampling of what was in his mind at the time he made the mindscape – scattered thoughts! _If I can get back in, _Harry realized, the magnitude of his discovery sinking in, _there might be clues…he might have accidentally left clues…  
_

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks to Clara for beta reading and thanks again to my reviewers :) 


	17. Flame Acestes

**A/N: **I hope you like this chapter. Thanks again to Clara Minutes for beta reading and to everyone who has waited patiently for an update. I've got more time to write in the summer, and I fully intend to finish this fic before the final book is out. That may seem impossible given my pace so far, but I've managed a much tougher writing schedule before.

_**Chapter Seventeen: Flame Acestes**_

Ron must have been getting used to Harry waking him up in the middle of the night. Instead of his usual bleary-eyed mumbling, he sat up alertly as soon as Harry shook him.

'What is it?' he asked, eyes forced wide open.

'I have a way to find clues.' Harry's finger was stuck between the pages to mark the important section. 'The mindscape Voldemort left in your dad is still there, and according to this book –' he flopped it open '– he probably left evidence of his thoughts without meaning to.'

Ron stared blankly for a moment before he understood. 'Oh.'

He didn't sound keen. Harry figured Ron was still sleep-addled. 'We should wake Hermione and work out the particulars. Hey, you awake yet? Do you need more sleep? This can keep until morning.'

Ron ignored the questions. 'You're going back inside Dad's head.'

Harry didn't register what Ron was bothered about at first. His success-clogged brain took all of two seconds to realize that he was worried about his dad. 'Ron, it won't hurt him. I wouldn't do it if it would hurt him.'

'He's not even _in there_ anymore!' Ron punched the bed. 'I _know_ you wouldn't do a thing to hurt him, but damn it, hasn't Dad been through enough?'

Harry was quiet. 'Yes,' he said. 'I'm sorry I brought it up. We can find another way.'

'Don't be stupid. We'll do it. Just tell me there's no other way, right?'

'I don't know of any.'

'Don't worry about it. Let's get Hermione – no, wait, what about Mum?'

Harry didn't know what Ron meant. His brow furrowed. 'What about her?'

'We should tell her about what we're doing. It's Dad.' Ron stood up and waited.

Harry's heart sank at the thought of telling Mrs Weasley. 'Now? Isn't she asleep?'

'No; she hasn't been sleeping much since Ginny left.'

'I don't think we can tell her,' Harry protested. Ron's insistence was making him very uncomfortable. 'She shouldn't know about the Horcruxes.' It wasn't her fight; she had enough on her mind. Harry was still uncomfortable with Remus knowing.

'She doesn't need to know about the Horcruxes,' Ron argued. 'Everyone's expecting you to fight Voldemort, Mum included, even if she doesn't like it. You wanting to learn more about his weaknesses will be enough.'

Harry decided that the argument was sound. He had nothing more to throw at Ron except that Harry didn't want to do it, which wouldn't be good enough. 'Okay,' he agreed reluctantly, slumping in resignation.

Ron led Harry to the kitchen, where Mrs Weasley was sitting alone, sipping a cup of tea, and listening to music on the Wizarding Wireless Network. She looked up at them in surprise.

'Boys, what are you doing out of bed?' she asked, setting down her tea and getting up. 'Can I get you anything? A midnight snack?' Mrs Weasley particularly set her sights on Harry, whom she'd scolded at dinner for not eating enough in the past few days.

'Thanks, but no.'

'Mum,' Ron started, 'Harry and I are going to see Dad tomorrow.'

Mrs Weasley paused, her smile drooping. Her hand fell onto her chest, covering her pounding heart. 'Boys, you don't have to do that.'

Harry's stomach in discomfited knots, he replied, 'We do. Voldemort –' Mrs Weasley shuddered '– left that mindscape inside him, and we think there's some information we can use against him in there.'

She levelled them both a serious look. 'Will this hurt Arthur?'

'No,' Harry replied immediately, shaking his head for emphasis.

Mrs Weasley slowly nodded. 'But I insist on being in the room, just in case. The Healer has to be there too.'

'Sure, Mum. We'll go tell Hermione, and we'll all leave together tomorrow morning.'

* * *

Mr Weasley was exactly where he'd been before: in the Janus Thickey ward. Gilderoy Lockhart looked blankly at Harry for only a moment, as if they'd never met, before he went back to signing autographs. 

'I'm going in with you,' Hermione stated.

'No,' said Harry sternly. They'd had this argument several times since she'd been told.

'I'm going in with you,' she said again, more insistently.

'I second Hermione,' Ron said.

He already knew that, too. Ron and Hermione were about ready to mutiny. 'There's no point for two of us to go. I'll find what we need – and you two will get me out if anything strange happens.'

The last point was said quietly so that Mrs Weasley couldn't hear. Harry knew it was possible for something to go very wrong; at worst, his consciousness could be trapped in the mindscape, severed from his body. It was like being Splinched during Apparition, except it was much trickier to fix.

'Misery loves company,' Hermione answered. 'If we get stuck, I'll be more helpful if I'm with you.' She grabbed Harry's shoulder and forced him to look her in the eye. He could see that she wasn't going to be swayed this time, so he sighed, which she took happily to mean "yes".

Harry stood by Mr Weasley's bed. The change in him was awful. He was much thinner, his face was chalk-white, and his cheeks were hollow. His breathing was slow and labored.

He looked eerily like a corpse.

'Are you sure you want to do this, Mrs Weasley?' asked the Healer from behind them.

She stared at her husband. 'I'm allowing it.'

Without further words exchanged between them, Harry and Hermione both turned to Mr Weasley, and each set their wands against one of his temples.

* * *

Harry pictured stepping into a dark room with a door at the end of it. The doorknob turned slowly, like it was stuck in thick clay, and he was having trouble moving it until another hand fell upon his. 

Then the door glided open easily.

Harry's eyes opened, and he was in the green-lit room he remembered.

Hermione took several steps into the room.

'Yes,' Harry replied to her unasked question. 'This is it.'

The room was jammed with things – little tables topped with trinkets and dark cabinets left ajar. He had no idea where to start looking.

His eyes skipped over most of what was in the room and rested a few moments on a symbol carved into the stone wall – a circle with three petal-shaped loops inside. From a corner of the room untouched by torchlight, a flurry of movement grabbed his attention, and Harry stared curiously at the source.

It was the snow globe. He remembered it. The flurry of snow was still too thick for him to see what was inside. A feeling greater than curiosity flamed; when he looked at it, he felt that he _needed _to see what was inside.

Harry took a step closer to the snow globe, and the snow moved violently in response. When he took another step, the snow turned to ice and started to ping off the inside of the glass.

Hermione spun toward him. 'Harry?'

He raised his foot to take another step, but he felt a visceral pull in his stomach warning him of danger. Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to turn away. The ice returned to snow, and the snow calmed, but it still wasn't enough for him to see what it was hiding.

'How's it going?' he asked.

Hermione frowned and ran her hand over the side of a seven-tiered chess board. 'Seven shelves. And these pieces…'

Harry walked over and examined the board for himself. On each tier of the transparent board was a single dark green chess piece.

On the first tier there was a pawn in the back corner; on the second tier there was another pawn, but it was at the very front of the board. The third tier held a knight knocked over onto its side in the middle of the board; a bishop was in the same position on the fourth tier, as was a rook on the fifth tier.

The sixth tier had a queen at the back in her traditional starting square. Unsurprisingly, the king was on the top tier, also in his usual spot.

Without thinking, Harry picked up the pawn on the second tier and found himself with a newspaper in his hands. The headline was at eye level.

_FLAME RELEASED FROM AZKABAN_.

Hermione looked over his shoulder. 'January 4th, 1955.'

Harry kept reading: _The Dark wizard Flame, convicted twenty years ago today of arson against Ministry headquarters in London and six instances of murder by magical methods therein, was released after serving out his sentence….It has been speculated that Flame's avoidance of both the Kiss and a life sentence were attributable to the passionate defence undertaken by none other than –_

Harry was shocked by the name on the page. _Albus Dumbledore_. 'Why would Dumbledore help him out? He's a Dark wizard and a murderer!'

'There has to be a reason,' she replied, sounding unsure of herself. 'We should ask his portrait; it might know. But what does this have to do with Voldemort?'

'I don't know.'

He frowned and folded the paper up. 'But I do know that those chess pieces can only be representing Horcruxes. The diary and the ring are two of the pieces lying down, and the locket is one of them too – he thought we'd destroyed it already. That pawn –' it was back where it had been before Harry picked it up '– gave us this as a clue. It has to mean something.'

* * *

The sun was falling in the sky and painting the castle walls red as McGonagall led Harry, Ron, and Hermione to her office. Harry couldn't help but smile despite himself; it was so _good_ to be back at Hogwarts. The halls were so quiet with no students in the castle that it was like the trio were sneaking around at midnight. 

He glimpsed Hagrid's cottage out the window and thought briefly of visiting him when this was over.

They climbed the stairs with Headmistress McGonagall, and she opened the door for them once they reached it. 'Good luck, Mr Potter, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley,' she said as she closed the doors behind them.

The office was very different, and Harry's chest ached to see most traces of Dumbledore gone. The old Headmasters and Headmistresses had deserted their portraits, fleeing the empty walls of the school.

In the only occupied portrait, which also happened to be the largest of all, Albus Dumbledore sat in a beanbag chair, puffing smoke out of a long pipe.

'Hello, Harry,' greeted Dumbledore, setting down the pipe and staring down at him intently. 'Ron, Hermione,' he acknowledged, tipping his sleeping cap to them.

Harry hadn't realized how bizarre this would feel.

'Headmaster Dumbledore,' Harry replied guardedly, hands clutched in his pockets. 'It's good to see you, sir.'

'No it's not, you're disturbed by it, as well you should be. And please call me Albus, for I am not your Headmaster anymore, and I regard you completely as an equal.'

Refusing to be distracted, Harry continued, 'Sir, I –'

'_Albus, _Harry, _Albus._' Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and gazed over his spectacles in expectation.

'Albus –' Harry's mouth felt all wrong saying that '– I'm looking for a Dark wizard named Flame.' Dumbledore's lips fell in disapproval. 'I believe he may have something to do with the Ho –'

'No, Harry!' said Dumbledore sharply. 'Don't say that word in here. The walls have ears, you see.' He indicated the other portraits; they were still empty, but Harry got the point – their occupants could come back any minute.

'You're barking up the wrong tree, Harry,' Dumbledore told him calmly. 'Flame was long before Voldemort's time, and they have never met.'

Annoyed at the abrupt dismissal of his information, Harry grated out, 'Could you please tell me _why_ you're so sure about that?'

Dumbledore pushed his spectacles up his nose with his right hand – no burns in sight – and said, 'No, for you have given me no reason why you need to know it.'

'_No reason?_' His voice and temper raised, Harry asked in frustration, 'Then could you at least tell me why you, of _all_ people, defended what he did?'

'_Harry!_' Hermione scolded him under her breath.

'I could, but I don't appreciate being spoken to in such a manner. And where did you hear about that?' Dumbledore frowned and picked up his pipe again; he blew rings of smoke into the next portrait.

'I don't think it would be a good idea to say in an insecure area, sir.'

'Let's chance it, shall we?'

So Harry said it quietly and in as few words as possible: 'A mindscape in Mr Weasley created by Voldemort.'

Dumbledore raised one long eyebrow in scepticism. 'The clue could have been planted there for you to find,' he pointed out.

'If it is, I'll find out one way or another.'

'Too true.' Dumbledore seemed satisfied by Harry's answer. 'There is nothing to lose by trying except life and limb. I have no intention of besmirching your judgment, so I will treat this clue as though it were incontrovertible, though we both know it is not.'

'Why did you defend this Dark wizard after all he'd done?' asked Hermione. Harry was startled; he'd nearly forgotten that his friends were there.

'Ah ah,' said Dumbledore, wagging his finger, 'that is not my story to tell. You will have to ask Will when you see him, and in the meantime I request that you give me the benefit of the doubt on the matter.'

Harry was willing to, after all Dumbledore had done for him. 'So you know where he is?'

'Certainly. He has been living in France since he was released.'

'Where?'

Dumbledore shook his head, but with a smile on his face that made Harry sure there was more information to come. 'I haven't kept track of his address these past few decades. You should ask his granddaughter.'

'Granddaughter?'

'Fleur Delacour – pardon me, it's Weasley now, isn't it?' Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with enjoyment as he watched them struggle.

'Wait a minute!' cried Ron. 'Her granddad's the Minister for Magic in France, isn't he?'

'No, it's the other one,' said Harry, the words tumbling out as he realized them. 'I met him at the wedding!'

'Harry is correct,' Dumbledore piped in.

'Thank you, sir,' Harry said. 'We should go see her.'

'Anytime, Harry, anytime! But it's _Albus_, remember!'

* * *

Bill and Fleur lived in a decent-sized rented flat in the suburbs of the suburbs of London. Ron knocked on the door, and they waited. 

'Who's there?' called a muffled voice through the door that could only be Bill's.

'It's me, Ron. Hermione and Harry are here too.'

'Why are you here?' asked the voice.

The three exchanged questioning looks as they wondered why it would matter. 'Uh, we just need to talk to Fleur. Is everything okay in there?'

Bill opened the door just enough for them to get through. 'Come in fast.'

The door shut behind them, and Bill aimed his wand at the door, casting a strong Locking Spell and reinstating several wards that made the door glow a dull red. Once that was taken care of, Bill was remarkably calmer. 'Fleur's in the bathroom. She'll be out in a minute.'

'How's she doing?' asked Hermione. It was obvious what she meant: the pregnancy, and the argument they'd had over it.

'Oh, we made up,' said Bill with a wry smile. 'She's staying. I went a little nuts when I found out she was pregnant. This isn't the best time to have a baby – I mean, I'm glad about it, but – hey, Fleur, we've got company!'

''Arry!'

Fleur tackled Harry into a hug, her smile beaming brilliantly. She kissed him on the forehead and hugged Ron next – adding a kiss on the cheek, which Ron took better than usual. Hermione was last. 'I'm so glad to see you! I went to 'eadquarters earlier and you were not zair! What 'ave you been up to all day long at 'Ogwarts?'

They all gave different answers at once, none of them true, and Fleur elbowed a smirking Bill.

'So…Fleur,' started Ron. They had agreed that he should be the one to ask, since he was Fleur's brother-in-law now. 'We were wondering...that is, we really, _really_ need to talk to your grandfather.'

Fleur appeared puzzled 'Grandfazzer? Why? Does ze Order 'ave business with ze French Ministry?'

'No,' refuted Ron, shifting awkwardly under Fleur and Bill's scrutiny.

'I didn't think so, since they would've told us when we stopped by,' said Bill. 'So then why…?'

Harry was happy to let Ron continue to take the lead, but Hermione rescued him. 'We need to speak to your _other_ grandfather. Dumbledore said his name is William Acestes, and he used to be a Dark wizard called Flame.'

Silence. Harry could tell by Bill's flat expression that he already knew everything, or at least enough to not be pleased. Fleur bit at the inside of her lip and glared right at Harry, as if she knew this line of questioning was due to him. 'Why?'

Harry replied, 'We think he's somehow connected to Voldemort.'

Fleur snarled, and Harry could swear that the edges of her face became sharper. ''Ow _dare _you! 'E 'as _nozzing_ to do wiz _'im_!'

Bill glared and put his arm around her, angry that they had upset his wife. 'What evidence do you have?'

'We found reference to him in a prominent place in the mindscape left inside your father,' stated Hermione, not backing down from the confrontation. 'I can tell you're both uncomfortable with this, but we're not accusing him of anything –'

'Just of knowing ze worst wizard of all time!' shouted Fleur shrilly.

Hermione raised her voice to speak over Fleur and added, 'We need to know what the connection is! Maybe your grandfather is entirely innocent –'

'He isn't,' said Bill dully with clear reluctance. Fleur stared at him furiously. 'He did the crimes he was convicted for. Even you admit it,' he told Fleur.

'Yes, but –'

'_So_,' Bill pressed, 'maybe they met. If there's any suspicion at all, there's no harm in asking him about it.'

Harry was relieved that Bill was on their side now. Fleur protested weakly, 'But it will upset 'im! 'E is an old man, and 'e is not well!'

'We'll do our best not to upset him,' assured Hermione.

Even to Harry, this seemed a poor argument considering how badly they'd upset Fleur. Fleur huffed derisively.

'Fine, but I will go with you, and you will leave if 'e asks you to! We should go in ze morning. Zat is when his mind is best…usually.'

* * *

Apparating to France was dizzying. Harry swayed heavily from side to side; Hermione fell onto her bottom on the dirt path and was yanked up to her feet by Ron. Fleur's landing was steady – she had more experience at long-distance Apparition – and since she ended up closer to the house, she was the first to knock. 

Harry saw Fleur throw her arms around the man who opened the door.

'Oh ho! What a pleasant surprise this is!' Flame – Will – called to them as they shuffled forward. Will's silver hair was unkempt and fell to his shoulders, and he wore a pink bathrobe. 'I was just steeping some tea! Hurry up there!'

He disappeared inside with Fleur. The others walked quickly to the wide open door.

The inside of the small country house had walls covered by pink flower-patterned wallpaper decades out of style – if it was ever in style at all – and every flat surface was covered by a unique doily. Books, magazines, and various odds and ends were stacked in ungainly piles against the walls.

Harry could hear Will chatting with Fleur in the kitchen. He abruptly emerged with a levitated silver tea set. The tea set dipped from side to side as Will walked, mirroring his swaying gait, and was nearly always just a hair away from spilling.

'Not the biting ones, I promise!' he announced loudly. Fleur rolled her eyes with a smile in the way of someone who has heard the same joke dozens of times over. 'I hope you like Earl Grey, that's all I serve in this house! Sit, sit!'

Before they could do as they were told, Will flicked his wand. The legs of the dining room table transfigured into frog legs, and the legs walked toward each other until the table was a much smaller size.

'No need for formality, I hate that old table, too damn big for the room, been too lazy to change it until now –' he told them as he waved his wand again. The second spell changed the dining room chairs into cushy armchairs.

Harry slowly sat down, watching Will's wand to make sure his chair wasn't about to sprout antlers, and a full cup of tea was in front of him by the time he looked up.

'Grandfazzer, zere is no need to make any special effort –'

'Oh nonsense, I never have guests, what on earth are you still doing standing up? Sit. And where is that husband of yours? He's not giving you grief, is he?'

Will had a nearly dangerous look on his face.

'No, no!'

'Well then!' He broke out in smiles again and took his own seat. Hermione was sipping her piping hot tea on Harry's left. Ron was squirming in his chair on Harry's right; it was so cushy that he was sinking into it. By the time Ron's chin was bumping the top of the table and Will still hadn't noticed, Hermione discreetly corrected the transfiguration.

'Let's see if I can remember your names…_you_ are Harry Potter, of course, but I'm at a loss for the lady's…yours is Roy, isn't it?' he asked Ron.

'Ron.'

'And I'm Hermione Granger.'

'Grandfazzer…' Fleur breathed in deeply and said, 'Zey are here to talk wiz you about He Who Must Not Be Named.'

Will made a face and shrugged mildly. 'Nasty blighter. Gives a bad name to Dark wizards everywhere, as if we – er, _they_, rather – didn't have a bad enough name as it is.'

Harry waited a few seconds, but that seemed to be all Will had to say. 'We believe he knows you.'

Will didn't even blink at the question. 'Merlin, no. Never met him. Have a biscuit.'

'Are you sure?' asked Hermione, keeping her tone light and eyeing Fleur to gauge her temper. Discreetly, she hinted, 'Maybe he's heard of you.'

Will casually refilled his cup of tea, either ignoring the hint or not getting it. 'You'd have to ask him who he's heard of and not heard of, but personally I wouldn't advise it. Nasty blighter,' he repeated, shaking his head grimly.

Harry sighed. 'What Hermione means is that she thinks he may have heard of your attack on the Ministry.'

His mouth opened in shock, and he set down his teacup. 'Goodness, do you think so?' he asked as though he'd genuinely never considered the idea. 'Well, I suppose he may have. It's in the curriculum, isn't it? History of Magic?'

'Yes,' confirmed Hermione.

'Well then!' said Will, good humour returning. 'I suppose he _has_ heard of it! Well! That's wonderful! Isn't it wonderful, Fleur?'

Fleur looked at him worriedly.

Hermione whispered, 'I think he's forgotten what we're talking about.'

'Could you tell us more about the arson you committed at the Ministry?' asked Harry, speaking slowly and clearly.

Will was immediately back in the moment. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed heavily. 'I suppose so. I owe it to anyone who asks. It was an accident, you see. Mostly. I didn't even know it was real until I stepped outside. They were pouring water on my head,' he muttered, patting his hair absently.

Harry didn't know how to make sense of that. This was going to take a while. 'It was an accident? How did you _accidentally_ set fire to the Ministry?'

'And why couldn't they extinguish it?' wondered Hermione aloud.

Will fixed on Hermione's question. 'Aha! Yes! Eternal Flame is troublesome to put out. It's doable, but it takes time, and certain potions need to be thrown in…let's see, what were they again?'

Will seemed to be lost in thought; then he blinked, looked around, and smiled. 'Biscuits, anyone?'

Harry took a deep breath and tried to be patient. 'Why did you set fire to the Ministry?'

'Why did I...? Ah, that. It was supposed to be a demonstration. In those days the fad in Dark wizardry was the idea that we ought to reveal ourselves to the Muggles. Not to take over the Muggle world, you understand – just so we wouldn't have to hide any longer. Now, I call it a fad, but back then I _believed_ that we would all be one happy family if not for the Secrecy Statute keeping us apart.

'I know better now. Throw magic in their faces and the Muggles _still_ won't see it for what it is.'

Will sighed. Harry could tell by now when Will was about to lose his train of thought, so he tried to keep him on it by asking, 'So you wanted the Muggles to see the fire?'

'Yes! The flames were _green_, after all. It's a great deal of trouble to go to, making green flames. I thought perhaps yellow and black at first, my old house colours, but then I decided that black would send the wrong message and yellow was too much like ordinary fire. I could have tried pink –'

'And since the fire had to be put out magically, you thought the Muggles would see wizards using magic?' Hermione interrupted as Will flew off on a tangent.

'Yes! _Exactly! _I wanted to put out the fire myself in a grand display…'

Then Will appeared agitated. 'But it didn't work out like that at all.'

Harry could tell that they were finally getting somewhere. 'What happened?' he asked.

'I was hoodwinked. The idea for all this came from a man who I thought was a good friend of mine. He supplied everything I would need to put the fire out. Spell instructions, potions...I was a decent enough Dark wizard, you see, but young. I didn't know nearly enough to pull off the plan without help.

'But he deceived me, my friend, and the potions turned the fire into a terrible, monstrous creature of flame. I'm amazed it only took _six _lives. He was probably hoping for more. Evil man.'

'Who was this friend?' Harry prompted him.

'Oh, you've heard of him. Grindelwald. I met him as I hopped about Europe – brilliant with Dark magic, he was. But then he started a war and got himself killed by a wonderful wizard…can't quite recall the name…'

'Dumbledore?' supplied Harry.

Will snapped his fingers. 'Yes! That's it! Albus Dumbledore! He defended me at my trial, you know. He knew I didn't mean for it to go as far as it did.' His eyes glazed over in memory. 'Oh, how my poor Belle sobbed at the sentencing. Dumbledore was very kind to her. Great man, Dumbledore. I still can't believe she waited all those years for my release…'

Harry frowned in thought. He turned to Hermione. 'I still don't see what this has to do with Voldemort, do you?'

Will clapped his hands over his ears. ''Arry!' Fleur scolded warningly. 'Ze name!'

Harry cringed. 'Er, sorry.'

Hermione replied, 'I don't see the connection either.'

'Zen per'aps we should go,' suggested Fleur.

'Just a minute,' said Harry hurriedly. He didn't want to go yet – there had to be _some_ clue! He had to stall until he could think of something. 'Er…what year did you do it in?' he asked.

'It was 1934,' Will replied instantly. 'New Year's Eve, in fact. I picked the day for symbolism, you know – the dawn of a new era of magical/Muggle cooperation.' He chuckled bitterly.

'That's his birthday!' Harry realized.

'Who's?' asked Will.

'Er, never mind.' A thought occurred to him. He added up the math in his head. 'Were there any children around? A boy, about seven years old?'

Will's face scrunched up in thought. 'When I left the building…right before they arrested me…I had set my hair on fire, just for the effect. There were Muggles gathered around the building to watch, just as I'd hoped, and a Muggle threw a bucket of water on me. My hair didn't go out, and – yes! I remember it as if it were yesterday!'

He paused, and his eyes glazed over in reminiscence. 'I was still excited because I hadn't realized yet that it had all gone wrong…yes, my head was on fire, and it was starting to tingle, but it was all perfectly safe, and there was that Muggle boy.

Will grinned ecstatically. 'He is my one good memory of that day. That Muggle boy stared up at the flames and smiled like he was seeing fireworks for the first time. I approached him, and he turned to me with that same smile, and he asked, "Is this for my birthday?"

'I laughed and told him it was.' Like he was reliving the moment, Will laughed heartily and shot up out of his chair.

'Someone poured another bucket of water on me. Everyone else screamed, terrified witches and wizards streamed from the building, and most of the Muggles tried to stay clear of me, but that boy stood there smiling – he was an adorable boy. I declared loudly to the crowd that it was magic, but they all thought I was insane.

'That boy, though…I think he believed me. He was the only one I convinced.'

'Can we see your memory?' asked Hermione, voice high with excitement. 'Please, it could be very important!'

'I don't have a Pensieve myself, but –'

'That's okay, we have one!' They didn't, but Harry was sure someone they knew would.

'Hmm…I haven't done this in a while…'

Will set his wand against his temple and drew out the strand of memory. 'Anyone have somewhere to put this?' he asked as it hung there.

Fleur scrambled into the kitchen and brought out a potion vial. 'Here, grandfazzer.'

'Thank you, dear.' He dipped the memory into the vial and handed it to her.

She handed it to Harry.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Beauxbatons and a sinister Horcrux trap! 


	18. Boneprice

**A/N: **Here's the next chapter! Enjoy! The next one's almost half-written already, so I won't leave you hanging at the end for too long this time. Thanks go out again to Clara Minutes for beta reading and to all the awesome people who have reviewed this fic so far.

_**Chapter Eighteen: Boneprice**_

'What next?' asked Hermione. They were outside of Will's house now, and they waited as Fleur said goodbye to her grandfather.

'Dumbledore had a Pensieve,' noted Ron. 'McGonagall might have it now.'

'We'll ask her when we get back,' Hermione agreed. 'Harry? Should we go now?'

Harry looked across the wide open greenery. He smiled as a thought occurred to him. 'No.'

Hermione was confused. 'No?'

'No.'

He turned to face his friends, and they relaxed when they saw his pleasant expression. 'As long as we're here and all, we should go visit Ginny at Beauxbatons. She'd kill me if she knew I was this close and didn't see her.'

Hermione frowned. 'I don't know. It's quite far away –'

But Harry was already calling, 'Fleur! Wait! Over here!'

Fleur called back, 'Yes?'

'Can you take us to Beauxbatons?' he asked. 'We'd go ourselves, but we don't know what it looks like. Well, maybe Hermione does –'

'Not well enough to Apparate there!' she protested. 'I'd probably Splinch us!'

Fleur seemed to have already forgiven them for bothering her grandfather, particularly since it had ended well and he'd enjoyed the company. 'I don't see why not. I am not needed back right away, and I can Apparate zere by 'eart.'

'Great!' Harry wanted to find the Horcrux very soon, but he also wanted to see Ginny again. He hated that they'd argued the last time they'd talked. They'd pretty well made up through letters, but it wasn't the same.

Fleur surprised Harry by grabbing his hand. ''Old on,' she instructed.

After another dizzying Apparition, Harry landed flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. Fleur had delivered Ron and Hermione by the time Harry rolled onto his feet.

'Woah,' said Ron.

'It's beautiful!' Hermione said with a sigh.

Harry looked across the horizon and saw Beauxbatons. He couldn't take his eyes off it as they drank in every detail.

Beauxbatons was a _palace_ of cloud-white stone. Person-sized windows lined up in rows stretched a kilometre wide across the chateau's exterior, and tall, rounded, azurite-domed towers on all corners glinted with a bluish light. A formal French garden of pink flowers in full bloom, dotted with precisely-trimmed bushes and marble statues, stretched from the tips of Harry's sneakers to the main entrance at least a mile away.

It was not quite as large as Hogwarts, he concluded after a minute, but it was fancier.

Fleur leaned against a nearby tree to stay standing, exhausted from all the Apparition she'd done that day. 'Wait a moment. I need to rest.'

'Sure,' Ron said, not even glancing back at her.

He sidled up to Harry. 'Not so homey as Hogwarts, is it?' he remarked quietly. 'Can you picture Hagrid prancing around trimming bushes and watering flowers?'

Harry snorted. As he imagined it, Hagrid ended up wearing a frilly pink dress and singing in a high voice as he daintily tipped a watering can over the begonias. 'I don't think we'll find a Forbidden Forest around here.'

'More like a Forbidden Flower Patch.'

Once Fleur was ready, they headed for the front door. 'I will get us in,' said Fleur. 'Ze gatekeeper knows me, of course.'

'You have a gatekeeper?' asked Hermione.

'Oh yes,' Fleur said enthusiastically, smiling as she looked around and ran her fingers over the flowers like they were her old friends. 'Ah, ze smell is so fresh and wonderful! 'Ow I 'ave missed zis place!'

They reached the gate. It was an imposing castle door, and Harry could feel a tingle of magic on his skin. He doubted that touching it would be safe.

'Stay 'ere while I speak wiz ze gatekeeper,' said Fleur. She entered a small wooden side door Harry hadn't noticed; he figured it was obscured purposefully, because he couldn't find it again after Fleur entered it.

She was gone for at least ten minutes, and then she returned with a heavy metal key ring. A small silver key was attached. They watched as Fleur slid it into a gilded silver lock. The door opened inward of its own accord into a sprawling, grassy courtyard with an enormous fountain in the centre.

The three went inside with Fleur. They stuck close together, all feeling a similar sense of being out of place as several upper-year students in the courtyard stared and whispered. A pair of girls who looked around their age waved to Fleur, and she waved back.

'I zink I will visit some people while I am 'ere. Especially my sister,' she said. 'Can you get back to Britain by yourselves when you are finished? Ozzerwise I could meet you at ze gate,' offered Fleur, walking backwards toward the girls.

'We'll be fine. Thanks for everything,' Hermione replied.

'Yeah, thanks,' added Harry. He caught Ron eyeing Hermione nervously and suspected that he was leery of trying long-distance Apparition on his own.

With Fleur gone, the attention from the Beauxbatons students grew even more blatant. One very pretty blonde-haired girl flounced up to them. 'What are you doing 'ere? I 'ope you are not more 'Ogwarts students.' She rolled her eyes.

Scowling, Hermione replied, 'We're not staying, if that's what you mean.'

But the girl didn't even acknowledge hearing her. Her eyes locked on Harry's scar, and her hand flew to cover her mouth. '_Mon Dieu!'_

She ran back to her group of friends, who didn't even bother keeping their voices down. All Harry could pick out was his name, but he got the basic idea from their gasps and more concentrated staring.

'Merlin, we can't take you _anywhere_,' muttered Ron.

Hermione sighed. 'We should ask them where Ginny is.' She glanced at Harry. 'And by _we_, I mean _you_.'

'What?! Why me?'

'Because they're drooling over you,' said Hermione cynically. She rolled her eyes in the same disgusted way as the French girl. 'They'll trip over themselves to help you. Ron and I are only more unwanted Hogwarts refugees.'

'Er, okay.'

Not quite knowing what to do, Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and walked – casually, he hoped – over to the girls, who grinned to each other and patted their hair upon his approach.

'Uh, _bonjour,_' Harry greeted. The girls partially encircled him, and Harry's heart hammered nervously. 'Um, I'm looking for Ginny Weasley. She's a sixth-year from Hogwarts.'

'_Oui_, I know of her!' said the girl from before, who seemed to be the leader of the pack. 'But I do not know where she is. We could show you around ze school, and per'aps we will find 'er.'

'Um, okay –'

And before he knew it, Harry had been abducted by four attractive French girls. All but one could understand English passably well – the one who couldn't had the others translate what Harry said into French for her. Harry kept an eye out for Hogwarts students, but the hallways were largely empty.

'You battle ze Dark wizards, yes? Zat is why you are not in school wiz ze ozzers?' one asked as they shuttled him round a corridor.

'Um, yeah.'

'And you are 'ere to see Ginny?' She pronounced Ginny's name strangely, as if it were "Gee-Knee."

'Yeah.'

'Zat is so sweet of 'im!' said one of the other girls, clutching her hands to her chest. Harry caught sight of Hermione and Ron, who were following behind, and Ron made a gagging motion.

''Ow long will you be 'ere? I am sure Madame Maxime will be 'appy for you to stay.'

'Er, I'm just passing by –'

'You can spare ze time! Ze Dark wizards can wait for you to kill zem, I am sure!'

'Er –'

'What is your favourite colour?'

'Red.' A good thing, since it was the colour of his face.

'Red is a wonderful colour!'

'I love red also! It is ze colour of love, no?'

The chatter continued, and Harry felt a headache coming on, but there was still no sign of Ginny. 'Maybe she would be in the library?' he suggested meekly.

The girls collectively pouted and disagreed. 'Oh, ze library is no fun! You will want to see ze arboretum! Zere are such lovely flowers!' said their leader.

_Anything but more flowers, _Harry thought. 'Er, that would be great, but –'

He was too late – they were off again.

_I'll get you for this, Hermione_.

They reached the arboretum; Harry's nose was tickled by all the different flowery smells in the air. He looked around for Ginny – _anyone _that he knew – but there was no one but Beauxbatons students within his line of sight.

'_Ron_?!' cried a familiar voice.

Harry turned around. The person coming into the arboretum behind them was a welcome sight: Dean Thomas.

'Dean!' said Ron, as he was closer. As they clapped each other on the back, Dean took sight of Harry, and his jaw dropped.

'_Harry?_ What are you doing here?' His voice reaching a panicked high, he asked, 'There's something wrong, isn't there?!'

'No,' Harry assured him firmly. The Beauxbatons girls scowled at Dean.

Dean looked relieved. 'Phew. Well, in that case…great to see you.' He wrinkled his nose. 'Say, mind if we talk somewhere else? I'm allergic to something in here.'

'Sure!' said Harry. 'But do you know where Ginny is?'

'Nope. I still can't find my way around this place – it makes me feel like a first-year again. I thought this was the library.'

Harry thanked the Beauxbatons girls, who were less than pleased to see him go, and then set off with Dean, Ron, and Hermione to who knew where. 'I _think_ the library is this way,' Dean said. 'Or maybe it's that way? No, definitely this way.'

'How's everyone holding up?' Ron asked him as they travelled the halls.

Dean shrugged. 'Well enough. The Beauxbatons students are snobs, so we stick together. Most of Gryffindor is here, around half of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and even a few Slytherins – but most of _them_ went to Durmstrang.'

Amazingly, Dean was right about the library this time. About two dozen Hogwarts students, identifiable by their black robes, were clustered around tables by the back windows.

'Oi!' Dean yelled to them. The Beauxbatons students in the library and the librarian shushed him; the Hogwarts students looked up from their books, and the Gryffindors in particular snapped their books shut immediately when they saw what the fuss was about.

Harry's eyes honed in on a pair of beautiful brown eyes.

* * *

After receiving hugs and well wishes – even a Slytherin shook his hand and wished him luck – Harry and Ginny left the library together. Ginny's sense of direction was better than Dean's; she easily led them back to the arboretum.

'There sure are a lot of flowers around here,' Harry said – at least the flowers were a safe topic.

'The trees are mostly flowering,' Ginny agreed. 'You'd think they'd have more variety. There's nothing ugly or even normal here. It's all a little too much.'

Harry bundled up his courage. 'How have you been?' he asked, sitting down beside her on a little white bench. He hoped that talking about her wouldn't lead to another argument.

Ginny sighed and looked away. 'Boring. It just seems silly to be studying while…I've been sending letters to Mum, you know.' She looked Harry in the eye. 'She says that she'll let me stay after Christmas if I haven't changed my mind about this place. And _when_ I do, I'm going to help you. No more hiding behind closed doors with Ron and Hermione.'

Harry couldn't think of any objection Ginny would agree with. '…Yeah, okay.' Ginny grinned in satisfaction. 'There are some things I should tell you first, though.'

Harry cast a spell to prevent eavesdropping and then told her – briefly, because he hadn't come to talk shop – about the Horcruxes. Ginny listened intently and didn't interrupt with questions, which he appreciated.

When he was done, she stared at him with an intense expression he'd never seen before, as if she was looking at him in a different way. 'You're really going to do it, aren't you?'

'Do what?' he asked.

'Defeat him. You're really going to do it. And it's not going to be in years – it'll be soon, Harry, I know it. There's only two more Horcruxes to find, and then the locket, and then there's Nagini and Voldemort, and they come as a pair.'

Harry looked down at the ground in contemplation. 'This part isn't the hardest. In the end, I still have to beat him somehow.'

'You'll do it,' she replied simply. 'You always do. This time you'll just beat him more soundly than usual.'

Ginny was so sure of herself that Harry even believed it.

They sat for a while in companionable silence, holding hands. It was deeply peaceful, and Harry thought about how glad he was that he had come to see her. He wasn't sure how he felt about her coming back to Britain, but that was months off, and it was impossible to worry with the soft skin of her hand against his.

'I should go soon,' Harry said after a while.

'Yes, you ought to.' Harry was surprised, but Ginny, glaring at some Beauxbatons girls who had passed by several times, explained, '_They_ look about ready to rip your clothes off with their eyes. I know that look.'

'You would,' he said darkly. Then he remembered that they weren't exactly _together_ anymore. Just sort of. 'So how are the Beauxbatons boys?'

Ginny stared at Harry with impatience. 'You're an idiot.' She pecked him on the lips. 'Go away.'

He did, while touching his lips with his fingers and grinning like a fool.

* * *

_Wake up, Harry_.

Harry stirred.

_Harry, wake up!_

The dim lighting in the room informed Harry that it was morning – along with Mrs Weasley's prodding. He blearily opened his eyes, feeling more exhausted than he had when he'd gone to bed.

'You've been asleep for over a day! Wake up!'

Harry bolted upright in shock. _'What?'_

'We couldn't wake any of you all day yesterday! Ron just got up a couple of hours ago!'

The trio had been planning to see McGonagall after their trip to France, but that would have required yet more Apparating. Even Hermione had been completely burnt out, so they had collapsed into their beds before dinner, intending to wake up fresh the next morning.

It was morning all right, but they'd lost an entire day!

Harry threw off the sheets in panic. Mrs Weasley, her hands on her hips, told him crossly, 'You ought to have known that so much Apparating would be tiring! You were going here, there, and everywhere for two days! First to St Mungo's, then to Hogwarts, then to Fleur's, then the next day all the way to France and back! I hear you even went to Beauxbatons! What if someone had attacked you and you weren't at your best?'

'Sorry, Mrs Weasley.' If _Harry_ was getting this much scolding, he could only imagine what Ron had been through with his mum since he'd woken up.

'You can at _least_ tell me how Ginny was!'

'Fine,' Harry replied with a groan. He rubbed his eyes and felt around for wherever he'd thrown his robes.

Mrs Weasley huffed. 'That's exactly what Ron said! "Fine!" I'll expect more details than that at breakfast!'

The three set off right away after a very quick morning meal, all feeling foolish for sleeping so long, especially Hermione. 'I should have known!' she berated herself. 'There's a reason people use Portkeys for long distances!'

* * *

McGonagall, it turned out, did indeed have Dumbledore's old Pensieve, and their urgency convinced her that their purpose was important, whatever it was. Harry, Ron, and Hermione dove into the memory at once.

Inside the memory, daylight was disturbed by dreary, dark clouds hanging over a dirty street in London. They spotted Will – the Dark wizard Flame. His face was youthful and handsome; he could be no older than twenty-five. He received looks both curious and suspicious from Muggles as he caroused proudly down the street in his robes. What's more, he was singing _Oh Sweet Morgana_ at the top of his lungs – he was _trying_ to get as much attention as possible.

_'OH SWEET MORGANA,_

_SHE'S THE BATWING OF MY EYE…'_

Harry ignored him and looked around for Tom, but there were too many people moving about around them to pick him out.

It was Will's memory, so they had to follow him through the red telephone box into the Ministry building. They watched him hex the fireplaces surreptitiously so the witches and wizards inside would have to exit through the doors on the abandoned ground floor into the crowd of Muggles. Then Will started the fire on the third floor of the building, watched it grow until he was satisfied, and he left as the wizards in the building were slowly getting wind of what was going on.

Harry saw the very young Tom Riddle as soon as Will made his flamboyant exit. Tom squeezed his way into the front of the crowd of adults with determination and craned his neck to see the flames, eyes filled with wonder. He held a small candy treat he'd likely gotten for his birthday tightly against his chest with one hand.

Tom spoke with Will, just as Will had claimed, and then went back to watching the bright green fire.

The crowd gasped as the thickening fire boomed and roared – something was happening. The centre became a catlike face with gleaming red eyes. The tendrils of flame turned to claws that swiped at the building, and bricks tumbled to the ground by the dozen.

Harry heard screaming, and people were backing away, but Tom continued to stand there, oblivious to the danger. His hair was dirtied by particles of debris, but he shielded his eyes with his hand and continued to stare until a woman grabbed him by the waist and hauled him off.

After that, he disappeared.

'I still don't see where the Horcrux would be,' said Hermione. 'Maybe it's where the fire was started, above the Ministry?'

'No,' decided Harry. He thought frantically, wanting to figure out where it was before the memory ended. 'This isn't about the fire, it's about Tom. It's about Tom seeing the fire, seeing _magic_ for the first time, and thinking it was all for him.'

Harry looked at the place where Tom had been standing, and he understood. 'It's where _he_ was. That's what's important. Look, he was standing on a manhole cover!'

It was a perfectly ordinary manhole cover for a perfectly ordinary manhole. Ron and Hermione both wore satisfied looks until Ron's lips turned downward in disgust. 'We're going to have to go down there, aren't we?'

Harry remembered Dumbledore's shrivelled arm – and Ginny's brush with death.

'We'll be lucky if the smell is the worst of our problems.'

* * *

Their first task was to get to the manhole. Harry was technically wanted by the Ministry for questioning, and the manhole was right outside the building. They decided on a simple spell to obscure their faces – if a witch or wizard looked right at them, they would be in trouble, but at least it lessened the likelihood of being caught.

The second problem was going down the manhole; that was certain to get people's attention. So they waited until the dead of night when there were only a handful of Muggles about.

Then Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stared at the manhole cover.

'Should we levitate it?' wondered Harry. He certainly didn't want to _touch_ the thing.

'There are still some Muggles who might see,' Ron said. 'We'll have to pick it up – and by _we_, I mean _you_.'

Harry stared crossly at Ron. 'Why me _this_ time?'

'Because Hermione and I can stand in front of you and block you from the Muggles while you get it open,' he answered, sounding awfully pleased with himself. 'We could even snog – you know, just so we don't look suspicious standing around out here.'

'You're both babies.' Hermione got down on her knees, put her fingers around the manhole – cringing – and pulled.

'No good,' she said after pulling as hard as she could. She got to her feet. 'It's bolted down.'

As surreptitiously as possible, Hermione took out her wand and whispered a spell. 'There. Now let's go.'

They were on the receiving end of some odd looks from passing Muggles but got down the manhole nonetheless. Harry was the last one down, so he pulled the manhole cover back in place. As he did so, Hermione and Ron got out their wands and illuminated the sewers.

Harry wished it had stayed dark.

'This is _disgusting_,' Ron whined, his eyes tearing up. 'I can't believe Voldemort stuck a Horcrux down here. Doesn't he have a sense of smell?'

'Ugh,' Hermione agreed.

Harry went down the ladder, but he wasn't too keen on getting off it any time soon to stand in the muck. 'The Horcrux is probably hidden by magic.'

Hermione sent him a withering look. 'No, really?'

'Sarcasm isn't helpful.'

'Neither is standing around here waiting to catch the Black Plague,' she replied tartly.

Harry sighed and produced his wand. He cast a few spells meant to reveal hidden messages or passages, but nothing happened. 'I don't see anything.'

Hermione tried a few more, but with no success.

'Please, of _all _the Horcruxes, can we _please_, _please_ not take long finding this one?' cried Ron desperately, holding his nose.

'Do _you_ have any ideas to share?' snapped Hermione.

'I'll try anything to get out of here!' His jaw set in determination, Ron backed up as far as he could and ran a couple of steps toward the opposite wall. To Harry and Hermione's amazement, he disappeared through the wall.

'It's like platform nine and three quarters!' said Hermione, grinning as she too took the wall at a run.

Harry ran through next. A slimy sensation passed through his body as he made it to the other side, and he tried hard not to think about what he'd just touched. On the bright side, the hidden passage, lit by green flames floating near the walls, was much cleaner, though it was musty and a little too warm.

There was only one way to go, so they followed the curved passage. The sewer had been awful, but now Harry's every nerve was on edge as he waited for the inevitable life-threatening danger ahead. He'd never have escaped the cave without Dumbledore, and though he trusted Hermione and Ron with his life, Harry knew that the three of them combined weren't nearly as experienced or knowledgeable.

He had a deep feeling of foreboding. This was a magical, dark place. The passage was warm, but the walls were very cold – and the few times Harry had touched them, he felt as though his energy was being drawn away by something.

Something hungry.

The passage spiralled downward and inward until it reached its centre. He was surprised when the journey ended without incident, though he couldn't have said how long they'd been walking.

They faced a rough-hewn wall with two openings side by side at about the height of Harry's shoulder. Each was around half the diameter of a Bludger. Around the openings, the wall was covered with a circular inscription. Hermione moved immediately to try to read it.

'It's in runes, and it's complicated, so give me a minute.'

Ron fidgeted constantly. Harry kept his eyes on the holes in the wall, which he was sure were bound to start trouble.

But the openings sat still and silent, empty and waiting.

'Okay, I think I have something.' Hermione traced the runes with her fingers. 'It's about hands…two hands…inside two hands? No, put hands inside. We're supposed to put our hands in there.'

'Let's _not._' Harry wasn't about to do what that wall wanted him to. There wasn't the slightest chance it would end well.

'I'll keep reading…hmm, yes, I think you're right, there's something about a sacrifice and blood – nothing pleasant.'

'So where's the Cup?' Ron asked.

'I think…oh.' Hermione paused; her hand fell away from the wall.

'What?' demanded Harry.

Hermione turned around. Harry saw that she looked a little ill. 'I'm pretty sure we've found the Hufflepuff's Cup. There's a symbol for cup on here, and for stone, so I think the Cup is buried in the wall – but cup has the double meaning of something needing to be filled, you see, and…and its symbol is joined with blood.'

'So we have to fill Hufflepuff's Cup with blood. Fine.' Except Harry wasn't buying it for a minute. 'Sounds tame compared to the cave. No Inferi, no insanity, no major pain.'

'I'm not finished yet. There's also the symbol for drink.'

Ron ran his hand over his face, wiping off sweat. 'This is sick.'

'Again with the drinking,' muttered Harry. 'Original, that.'

'I'm not done.'

'Of course you're not.'

'These are…really advanced runes. These two –' she indicated obscure symbols Harry had never seen before '– I can't make out at all.'

And those were obviously the ones that mentioned something trying to kill them all after the cup was filled. With deep concern, Harry said, 'Maybe we should go back and consult a rune textbook before we do anything.'

'Absolutely,' agreed Hermione, looking relieved that Harry wasn't acting rashly. 'I can look up the symbols, and –'

'We don't have time,' said Ron, grim and urgent. 'Look here.'

Harry and Hermione went over and looked back down the passage.

Slowly and silently the walls were merging together behind them. Already most of the passage had closed.

They were trapped. Hermione tried Apparating, but it was no good.

'Our only chance to get out of here is the Horcrux,' Harry realized. And even that might not help.

'Well then,' Hermione said quietly, all colour gone from her face. She turned to Harry, and he saw fear in her eyes alongside a steady determination. 'Now it comes down to whether Ron or I put our hands in there.'

'What about me?!' demanded Harry. 'I should be the –'

'You're too important!' Hermione interrupted. She was fierce when she said, 'Ron and I are expendable. You're not. That's what it comes down to.'

'You are _not_ expendable!'

'Shut up, Harry!' Ron yelled. He pushed Harry against the wall. 'We don't have time. Hermione, get a coin out.'

As she did so, Ron stared Harry down. 'She's right and you know it. You need to get out of this alive. Even Dumbledore was less important than you, and he knew it, and who are we to him?'

Ron's unyielding words were backed up by his strength as he held Harry back.

'I've got a coin,' said Hermione. She was sombre as she clutched it in her hand.

Harry saw her draw her wand over it. Their eyes locked, and she looked away, and he understood. He was going to tell Ron she had rigged the coin flip, but he was cut off.

'Toss it,' said Ron.

Hermione flipped the coin into the air.

Before the coin fell, Ron pushed off the wall and knocked Hermione to the ground. Harry reached out his arm to grab him but missed by inches.

'Ron, no!' he shouted.

But it was too late to stop Ron. He placed his hands in the openings within the stone, and immediately the wall reacted. It was just what Harry had felt before: hunger. Ron's arms were drawn in up to the elbows, and the stone closed in around them.

'How could you?!' Hermione demanded as she got to her feet. 'Oh Ron!'

'Don't "oh Ron" me,' he told her. 'I'd bet every Galleon Harry's got that you fixed the coin anyway.'

Hermione didn't deny it. Facing the wall, Ron couldn't see tears coming to Hermione's eyes, but Harry could.

'I can touch the Cup's handles,' Ron announced, business-like. 'My arms feel like the blood's being pricked out from everywhere, but it just stings, that's all.'

Harry and Hermione waited in silence from a short distance behind and listened to Ron's commentary. 'The Cup's coming closer. I can almost get my hands around it now. I think it must be almost full.'

With satisfaction evident in his voice, Ron said, 'I've got it! Now I just have to drink the blood, and then we can go home – right, Hermione?'

'Y-yes,' she answered, her voice quivering.

'Right, well, I can't drink it yet, I'll need to pull my arm out first –'

The stone around Ron's left arm slowly expanded again, but Ron didn't pull out his arm until it was even wider than it had been to start – wide enough to pull out the Cup. He turned around to face them, grinning as he held it up.

'Guess it won't let my other arm out until I drink,' he said. 'Bottom's up.'

Ron took a small sip and recoiled in horror.

'Can we drink it instead?' asked Harry.

'I don't think we should risk it,' Hermione replied. She watched Ron sympathetically as he made another go at it. 'I think he's supposed to do it himself. Something about balance…'

'Just drink it all in one go, Ron!' Harry tried to encourage him. 'At least it'll be quick that way!'

Ron nodded, gave the Cup one last grossed look, then closed his eyes and swallowed and swallowed until it was gone.

'Done,' Ron croaked out. His own blood coated his lips and streaked down his chin.

'The walls are reopening!' Hermione declared, looking back down the passage. 'Let's go!'

Ron tugged on his right arm. He tugged again. 'It's no good. My arm's still stuck.'

'What?' Hermione blanched. 'That's impossible –'

As she spoke, there came a rumbling. It started below their feet and travelled into the walls, into the ceiling. Handfuls of rock were tumbling down around them.

The cavern was collapsing.

'We have to go!' yelled Harry. He grabbed onto Ron and yanked him back as hard as he could, but his arm didn't budge.

'There has to be a way!' Hermione shouted in panic over the loud noise of the rocks as they dislodged and fell around them. She cast several spells even as Harry continued to pull, but nothing worked.

They were running out of time.

Then Ron's sombre expression blocked the crumbling of the cavern out of Harry's mind. It blocked out all of Hermione's panicked attempts to get Ron out.

Harry couldn't say anything. There was nothing to say. He knew what Ron was going to ask him to do before the words had left his mouth.

He _couldn't_. It was too much.

'Harry, you need to cut off my arm.'

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Harry's choice and a vicious attack! 


	19. The Long Night

**A/N: **Thanks for the encouraging reviews, and thanks to my tireless beta reader, Clara Minutes. I hope you enjoy the conclusion to the last chapter's cliffhanger - I'm not nearly so mean at the end of this one! A _lot_ of stuff happens, though.

_**Chapter 19: **__**The Long Night**_

'Harry,' Ron started again when Harry refused to respond. Hermione wasn't listening, for which Harry was grateful – she was still casting any spell she could think of to shrink Ron's arm, widen the hole, or blow the whole bloody wall up if she had to.

But Voldemort seemed to have thought of all those possibilities already. The wall held Ron's arm firmly in place as the cavern descended on top of them.

'_No_.'

A large rock fell on Harry's shoulder; he winced in pain.

'You have to!' shouted Ron, 'or just leave me here!'

'_NO!_'

Harry tore rabidly at the sleeve of Ron's robes until his fingernails dug into Ron's skin – painfully, he knew, but pain didn't matter at this point. He could get a better grip without the sleeve in the way.

Despite their desperate situation, time moved at a crawl. Dirty and tired, Harry focused on getting millimetres of Ron's arm at a time through the unyielding gap in the wall. It was slow, slow – and then Harry's arms gave way, insisting on rest for an instant, and all progress was lost. He growled like an animal in frustration.

He tried again desperately but made even less headway than before. Harry took a step back and fixed his attention on the wall – he could tell that Ron was speaking insistently to him again, but he blocked out his words and Hermione's cries.

Though it was an even madder idea than pulling Ron's arm out of solid rock, Harry started to throw himself against the wall near where Ron's arm was trapped over and over.

_SLAM!_

_I WON'T LET YOU HAVE RON!_

_SLAM!_

_NOT AN INCH OF HIM!_

_SLAM!_

_NOT HIS ARM, NOT HIS LIFE!_

_SLAM!_

It was hopeless, but Harry wasn't holding anything back. He ignored the flaring pain in his side and kept going, his heart aching at the prospect of harming Ron in anyway.

_HE'S MY FRIEND!_

_SLAM!_

_MY BEST MATE!_

_SLAM!_

_YOU CAN'T MAKE ME DO IT!_

_SLAM!_

_I LOVE__HIM LIKE A BROTHER!_

_SLAM!_

_YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM!_

_CRACK!_

And just like that, a tiny fracture appeared that ran all the way down the stone wall. More little breaks emerged from the first. Harry backed up, amazed and unsure, as chips, then bits, and then hunks of stone fell off the wall.

A moment later, Ron's arm was free. He gaped at Harry in amazement, but there was no time for commentary.

They made a run for it, the Cup still clutched in Ron's left hand.

* * *

Every time Harry thought it was over, there was something more.

They returned to Grimmauld Place and set the Cup in the centre of the sitting room. They were all exhausted and filthy, while Ron was also pale and a little bloody from Harry's initial attempts to pull out his arm. But Hermione wouldn't let go of that arm, and Ron's fingers gripped the Cup, and Harry couldn't possibly sleep with a Horcrux under their roof, so they stayed awake.

'How do we destroy it?' asked Hermione hoarsely, staring at the Cup.

'Should we try a spell?' Harry asked her in turn.

'…I don't know.'

'I don't either,' said Harry.

Ron stood up slowly; Hermione, still holding his arm, stood up with him. 'Ron?' she asked.

'I'm going outside,' he said dully. 'Let go.'

Hermione did so.

'Stay here. I'll be back in a minute.' Ron walked to the stairs and went outside. Harry heard several sharp metallic clangs against the sidewalk. Hermione got up to pursue him, but Harry stopped her with a glance.

The dim clanging continued in rhythmic contrast to the disharmonious howls and barks of Remus in his transformed state. He was being kept in a room underground near the kitchen with a reinforced door; without Snape to concoct the Wolfsbane Potion for him, he was a feral werewolf. Harry wondered how anyone was sleeping tonight.

The clanging stopped. When Ron returned, he set the Cup – perfectly intact – in front of Harry.

'You made it look easy,' Ron said by way of explanation, rolling his shoulder.

'We could try melting it down,' Hermione suggested. Her hand settled lightly on the Cup and then leapt back as if burnt. '…There's a very simple spell for melting gold,' she continued after a moment, staring suspiciously at the Cup.

Hermione waved her wand in a circular motion and said, '_Conflare!_'

Nothing happened. Harry got an odd, disturbing sensation from a curt golden glint as the spell vanished that the Cup was insulted by the effort.

'It was worth a try,' Hermione offered, settling back into her seat and staring at the Cup in puzzlement.

'We'll try something else,' Harry assured her, though he thought it might take a while, and he was exhausted enough to leave the Cup intact overnight after all.

Then they all heard the door downstairs creak open. Ron got up before anyone else and walked to the stairs, looking toward the entrance.

'It's Fred and George,' he whispered to them.

His observation was confirmed by a loud, 'Hey you!'

'Shut up!' Ron whispered fiercely to the twins. 'It's three in the morning! People are sleeping!'

'Not you, though, are you?' said one of the twins as they tromped on the stairs toward them. 'Well look here – Harry and Hermione too. What's this, a secret meeting?'

'No!' Harry denied abruptly as the twins skirted around Ron and plopped down on a threadbare couch nearby. 'No, just having trouble sleeping.'

Fred smirked. '_All _of you?'

'Yeah,' Ron replied in a don't-even-think-about-asking kind of way.

The twins looked at their little brother wryly. 'What happened to your arm?' asked George.

The sleeve of Ron's robe was ruined, and there was still some blood. 'Cut myself. Accident.'

Fred snorted. 'Right. Well –' their attention turned to Harry '– glad to see you up. We just finished that simulacrum of you.'

'And by _just_ finished, we mean about five minutes ago,' George added.

'Yeah, we've been holed up away from the shop all night where no one could bother us so we could focus,' said Fred. 'We brought some forms for you to sign.'

Harry frowned. 'Forms?' he asked. The twins both tapped some papers in their laps with their wands, and they appeared on the table in front of Harry, along with an inked quill.

'Release forms – so we can use your likeness without getting sued up our arses.'

Fred pursed his lips. 'You know, I always wondered how the Famous Wizards cards got away with using your name, what with you having been too young to sign off and all –'

'You could make a mint on a lawsuit,' muttered George. 'But see, we don't work that way. We're being all nice and direct about asking permission.' He smiled toothily. '_Please?_'

It seemed incredibly silly after all they'd been through that night. Harry picked up the quill and was about to sign when Fred sputtered, 'You have to _read_ them!'

'What does it matter?' asked Harry, proceeding to sign his name.

'That's a terrible habit to get into,' George warned. 'What if we put something about you signing away your soul to us in there?'

Fred shuddered. 'Or signing away your _royalties_!'

Harry finished signing and walked around the table. He handed them to the twins, and he couldn't help but smile. 'I guess that's one extra soul you've got now.'

'We're not monsters,' protested George. He glanced at Fred. 'Of course we're giving you royalties.'

'Wonderful,' he said in a tone that plainly showed he couldn't care less. Then he frowned. 'Wait a minute! I thought it was supposed to be a decoy for me – you're _selling_ it?'

From the cringes on Fred and George's faces, it seemed like they'd been hoping to avoid this conversation. 'It's for a good cause!' George said hastily.

'Verity suggested –'

'Word got out –'

'We have nearly a hundred pre-orders already –'

'It's the ultimate Death Eater deterrent!' exclaimed Fred, standing up and pacing the room. 'Think of it – a Harry Potter in every home!'

'But it's not _real_!' Hermione protested.

'They know that,' George dismissed with an eye roll, 'but imagine: a Death Eater comes knocking –'

'– out comes Harry Potter –'

'– the _Death Eaters_ don't know he's not real –'

'– unless they get close –'

'– yeah, because we couldn't get the scar right –'

'– it's sort of a squiggly thing, but there's nothing we can do about it. We learned that magical marks like that are nearly impossible to duplicate exactly.' Suddenly, Fred asked, 'What're you doing with that?'

He was staring across the room at the gleaming gold Cup.

Harry cursed himself for not having thought to put it away. 'Nothing,' he told them insistently.

'Nothing? At three in the morning? Tell me another one,' said George. 'Seriously, what is it?'

'We're trying to break it,' Hermione told them. Harry couldn't believe she'd said it – but Hermione looked back at him defensively, as if to say_ your way wasn't working!_ 'It's _an experiment_,' she added, sounding lofty and important.

Fred was sceptical. 'And Mum says _we're_ the ones wasting our time.' The twins moved to the table. 'Well, come on then, give it here.' He held out his hand to Hermione, who was closest to the Cup.

Harry blinked. 'I don't think –'

'Oh, let us have a go, it's the least we can do,' said George. He leaned over to pick up the Cup, but Ron's hand flashed to the handle, holding it down.

'We're the experts on breaking stuff,' stated George, glaring at Ron and giving his handle a tug.

'It's dangerous,' Ron argued, tugging even harder on his end but not breaking George's grip.

The twins grinned. 'Even better,' they said in unison.

'I'm not kidding.'

'We're not either.' George abruptly yanked the cup away, and Fred moved in to block Ron.

'Wow,' they both said together as the gold from the cup gleamed in their eyes.

'You lot sure are into shiny things lately,' commented Fred. He tapped his finger on the Cup. 'Who owned this one? Hufflepuff?' he queried jokingly.

'How'd you know?' Ron demanded seriously, not getting the joke in time to stop himself.

Fred and George looked around them in surprise. 'For real? Are you trying to compete with Borgin and Burkes now?' asked George.

'Like I said,' Hermione grated out, 'we're trying to break it, not sell it.'

'Fine, fine. You've tried a good old-fashioned gold melting spell?' wondered Fred.

Hermione crossed her arms.

'Right, sorry. Of course. Well then,' said George, 'it must be magical. Let's try draining the magic out of it.'

Harry's chest clenched in instinctive alarm. 'That's not a good –'

'_Emulsum magicum!_'

Harry felt the roar in his ears before he heard it – a primal, deep, guttural howl that turned into a high-pitched, teeth-rattling screech.

The cup crashed to the floor as Fred and George covered their ears. A dark wind swirled around them; it took the shape of clawed hands, and each wrapped around one of the twin's necks. The violent whirlwind lifted them all off their feet, and they swirled about the room, crashing into walls.

Ill and bruised and surrounded by a creeping sensation of darkness, Harry reached out and grabbed a curtain; it held just long enough for Harry to get out his wand before it ripped off its rail.

He struggled to hold onto the wand. Casting about in his mind for some spell that could help, he shouted, _'Expecto Patronum!_' and fixed his thoughts firmly on his time with Ginny at Beauxbatons, Ginny's smile, Ginny's kiss, Ginny's _everything_ –

The silver stag erupted from his wand, strong and proud, completely unperturbed by the howling, crashing wind. The wind died down, but only just – and when the stag tried to butt its head against the purple-black hands choking Fred and George, it was smashed against the wall. It shook its head and got up, but Harry was starting to feel faint...he didn't know how much longer he could hold the spell…

Then a terrier joined the stag – and then an otter. Harry's determination deepened. 'Attack!' he tried to yell, but he was sure they couldn't possibly hear him above the wind. He couldn't even hear himself.

Yet the three stood together in the eye of the storm and, in unison, dove at the claws again. They all disappeared as soon as they hit them, and Harry's heart briefly sank until the claws opened, releasing Fred and George, though they were still trapped in the whirlwind with the others. Harry swore he heard a harsh moan on the wind…the Patronuses had done _something_…

'_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_' he tried again, summoning all his love for Ginny to the forefront of his mind.

The stag reappeared – and it was more aggressive. It stamped at the ground and huffed air through its nostrils. The terrier and otter soon joined it again, and then two more – a small, furry creature and a large, hairy thing with lots of legs.

Each one threw itself into the whirlwind. The whirlwind buckled, groaned, and then screeched as if in pain. Harry's battered body was smashed against the window, and he heard the glass crack. The impact nearly dislodged his wand from his hands, but he held onto it for dear life.

The whirlwind swooped around several more times, slower and slower, until it met its end. The Patronuses were gone again – Harry exhaustedly dropped his wand as he fell to the floor and didn't move until he was pulled to his feet by Ron.

Melted, simmering, red gold burned through the floor. Everyone was badly bruised and somewhat bloody – Fred and George each had deep claw marks in their throats. A fire seethed in the carpet; the twins shot jets of water at the gold, and the water hissed into smoke.

For a few minutes, with everyone coughing, gasping, and groaning, they stared at the floor. The gold was melded to the floorboards.

'…I think it's dead,' Fred announced.

'Quite,' George agreed, though he stared at it as if expecting something more to happen. After some moments more, he was cheery again. 'Well, that solves _that_ problem.'

Ron yanked his shoe out of the wall and put it back on. 'Which of you has a spider for your Patronus?' He crossed his arms.

Fred whipped out his left wrist and pretended to look at his watch. 'Gee, would you look at the time –'

'We should get these nasty cuts looked at,' said George. He touched the marks with his finger and hissed at the sting. 'Give our best to Mum!'

'Better that she not see us like this!' added Fred, cringing at the thought of her finding out about the events of that night. 'She'll blame us for being the oldest.'

Harry looked around; the room was obliterated. There were toppled cabinets and chairs, holes in the walls from elbows and legs, glass shards under their feet, and a badly cracked window.

'She's not the only one,' muttered Ron bitterly. 'I told you it was dangerous!'

The twins smirked and turned around, walking in unison toward the stairs.

Then both turned back again at once.

'…Say…don't you think all that noise ought to have woken someone up?' George asked his brother.

Fred stared back ominously. 'Definitely.' He turned to Ron. 'Where's Mum and everyone?'

'I don't know; we've been out,' Ron replied. 'Maybe they thought it was Remus?'

'Yeah, maybe if there were about five of Remus in here,' objected George.

'Someone would come down to check out the noise,' Harry finished. The twins were right; someone should have heard all that. Where was the Order?

Hermione was already walking toward the door. 'Tonks ought to be awake with Remus anyway. She certainly should have heard everything.'

Harry took charge. Either the Order was gone on urgent business, or… 'They must have left a note or something – look around,' he ordered.

The group tore through the house; Harry went to check the bedroom he shared with Ron, Ron checked his mum's room, Hermione checked her room, and the twins went together to check in the kitchen.

But they found nothing – no one was home, and there wasn't anything saying where they had all gone. An eerie silence had fallen over the house. As the twins checked the rest of the rooms – but for the one where Remus was holed up in werewolf form – Hermione met up with Ron and Harry. 'If _I_ were leaving and wanted us to know, and I couldn't find us with a Patronus, I'd have left a note on the door.'

'There wasn't a note,' Ron stated immediately. 'We all saw the door when we came in.'

'Let's double-check,' said Harry.

The three went outside and searched around for a note. Within moments, Harry found one; it had been suspiciously crumpled into a ball and thrown into an overgrown shrub – at first glance, it was just a piece of trash that had been blown there from the neighbour's yard. 'Here!' he called to them. Ron and Hermione came running; Harry flattened out the note as much as he could, and they read it together:

_Harry,  
Werewolf attack outside __Derby.  
Neville_

* * *

Fierce howls ripped through the air around Derby. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, and George pursued the echoing noises through the rolling terrain, and after several Apparitions they caught their first glimpse of a grey wolf's silhouette stretched wide across the landscape. They ran fast and hard in chase of it until Hermione was panting and red-faced.

'Stop,' she said. She came to a halt and leaned over, hands on her knees, breathing heavily. The twins weren't built for speed either; they gasped for breath.

Harry could hardly believe that all this was happening in one night.

He turned his head and saw a brief blip of red light. 'This way,' he said quietly, and they moved slower toward the source, not knowing if they were approaching an Order member, an Auror, or a Death Eater.

His legs burned as they climbed a steep hill. When they neared the top, Harry reached a stilling hand back toward the others and listened intently to the commands crowed from above.

'– head northeast and outflank them! Bragge, reinforce the barrier! Quincy, I want confirmation on the second pack's movements!'

It was Scrimgeour.

Harry waved his hand to direct the others to go back down the hill. But as Harry backed up, he nearly stepped on Ron. He turned around to see what the hold-up was – he gulped when he saw three unfamiliar Aurors pointing their wands at them.

'Up,' said the female one sternly.

Scrimgeour soon became all too visible. He turned toward them as they were prodded in his direction. Harry looked away at the cold smile of satisfaction on his face.

'Harry, old friend.'

Harry looked up and glared. 'We're here to _help_, Minister.'

'Ah, I see. Were you there to help at the Smith residence when you broke in?'

A spell sounded like a bomb blast not too far away, and the ground shook mildly beneath their feet. 'This isn't the time,' Harry grit out angrily.

'No, it's not. Put Mr Potter under arrest.'

'What about the others?' asked the rough female Auror.

'They're not important. Let them go.'

The Aurors tried to come between Harry and Ron. He couldn't see inasmuch as he could _feel_ the twins reach into their pockets – 'Don't do anything dumb,' he urged the others as he was shoved forward. They were surrounded, and Harry wouldn't let the others get themselves into trouble on his account.

One of the Aurors grabbed his arm. 'Should we take him to the Ministry, sir?'

'Leave him with me,' replied Scrimgeour.

The Auror's hand snapped away, and Harry gave him a dirty look. Then he felt bad about it because the Auror looked chastised and ashamed, and he was only doing his job. Harry watched as Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George were shoved aside by the remaining two Aurors and several others on the hill.

Harry stood by Scrimgeour's side; he turned for a moment to bark out more orders, and then addressed Harry again. 'It's a disaster out there,' Scrimgeour remarked to him.

Harry stood silently and simmered. Scrimgeour sighed, and his hand fell awkwardly on Harry's shoulder. It was the worst attempt to be fatherly that Harry had ever endured.

'I'm not here to make your life more difficult, boy. We're on the same side. You'll be interrogated and given a slap on the wrist. The wizarding public doesn't care about what you did at the Smith house so long as you're still on our side.'

Harry shrugged Scrimgeour's hand off his shoulder. To his surprise, Scrimgeour let out a harsh laugh. 'You're bruised, bloody, and recalcitrant as ever. I respect that.'

He ignored Scrimgeour and looked about the landscape instead. He saw a glimpse of a wolf's tail and the leg of a man the wolf dragged along the ground. Someone close by shot a spell at it, and the wolf yelped. The tail fell lifelessly to the ground; the man who it had been dragging did not rise.

An Auror rushed up to the Minister. 'Sir!' he said. His eyes caught on Harry and did not leave him. 'We need to move our position. The werewolves are getting closer.'

'Have we got an updated count yet?'

'At least thirty, maybe forty, sir.'

'More than we thought.'

'Yes, Minister. They're everywhere. There's a pack of them east of here and another we just managed to lure out of the town.'

'We can't fend off forty werewolves,' Scrimgeour stated baldly.

The Auror kept staring at Harry. 'No, Minister. That's why your command centre needs to move.'

Scrimgeour scowled and rebuffed him. 'We've moved twice tonight already. If we're going to keep moving we may as well retreat – and we are _not_ going to do that. We cannot. I don't care if we have to round up every able-bodied witch and wizard in the Magical Law Enforcement Department – even the clerks! Wake them all up and get them out here to hold off these damn werewolves! We _must_ hold through the night!'

'…Yes, Minister.'

The Auror left. 'This is by far the biggest attack of transformed werewolves for two hundred years. We have forty confirmed casualties already – all Muggles,' Scrimgeour told Harry bleakly. 'Say what we may of You Know Who, he does make history.'

Harry couldn't give Scrimgeour the silent treatment any longer. This was too important. 'Is he out here tonight?'

Scrimgeour eyed him warily, then turned back to watching the battle unfold nearby as several more Aurors came in to reinforce the command centre. 'Not that we can tell. Fenrir Greyback is probably in command of them, not that a pack of wild animals can be commanded by anyone.'

Over the next few minutes, the battlefield was very clearly coming closer to them. 'Let me help,' Harry implored Scrimgeour. 'I can fight.'

Unmoved, Scrimgeour remarked, 'I think not. You're far too important to risk.'

Harry was getting more and more frustrated with being told that. 'But you just said you need every available –'

'_You're _not available,' Scrimgeour cut him off. 'You're under arrest.'

'Where are my friends?' Harry challenged him.

'Fighting, I'd imagine.'

Harry was furious, but he calmed down considerably when he realized that they hadn't taken his wand. Not wanting Scrimgeour to remember, he kept it hidden and decided to wait until the time was right.

Another Auror rushed over – Harry recognized Dawlish. 'Minister, we absolutely cannot hold them back anymore. We must move you and…' he gave Harry a desperate glance. He continued to speak, but Harry couldn't hear it over the sound of several wolves howling in unison not far off.

Scrimgeour sighed. 'How are the Muggles holding up?'

'The defences of the town are wavering,' Dawlish replied, his face exhausted and worried. 'And sir, we've spotted Death Eaters.'

'Death Eaters?' Scrimgeour and Harry both said at once. Dawlish nodded grimly.

'That's impossible,' sputtered Scrimgeour. 'The werewolves would go after them too! They don't distinguish friend from foe when they're transformed!'

'That's what we thought, but one of the wolves jumped at a Death Eater and another stopped it. We think a select few of the pack leaders may have taken Wolfsbane Potion – they may have their wits about them.'

'That would explain why this attack is so well organized,' conceded Scrimgeour reluctantly. 'This changes things considerably –'

'Minister!' shouted a breathless man who stumbled over. 'The werewolves are retreating!'

'What? I thought they were winning!' Harry blurted out, causing Scrimgeour to glare.

'They were! But they're all running off now! And the Death Eaters are leaving as well!'

'Why?' demanded Scrimgeour. 'There must be a reason!'

He stalked over to the man, and that was when Harry's chance came. No one was looking. He took out his wand.

'Potter!' Scrimgeour roared, looking around just in time to see Harry Apparate away.

He didn't leave the area – he needed to find Ron and Hermione. He Apparated instead to where the dead werewolf lay and made a run for it into a wooded area nearby. He made it there without being seen.

Harry felt more secure with trees on all sides, but he still didn't know where his friends were. He kept his wand at the ready and walked quickly, crumpling leaves and snapping sticks underfoot. Then he heard a deep male voice in the distance and stopped abruptly; it didn't sound like Ron, and he wasn't about to be dragged back to Scrimgeour.

The voice was so far away that it was hard to make out any words at all. Then Harry was certain that he heard his own name spoken, and once he had that starting point figured out, the syllables following were clearer:

'– Potter is here. We have two packs rounded up.'

There was another voice, softer and even harder to make out. All Harry heard clearly was: '…Greyback?'

Then the first voice again: 'The Dark Lord says to put him down if he won't cooperate. He won't risk Potter.'

The next thing Harry heard was two loud pops from the couple Apparating away. _What was that about?_ he wondered. The attack was being called off because _he_ was there? Even _Voldemort _considered him too bloody important to risk? _Why_? Was it just Voldemort's pride – was it just that _he_ wanted to be the one to kill Harry, so no one else could go near him?

Harry's hand closed tightly on his wand, and his nostrils flared in anger. This was ridiculous –

A form shot out at him from the brush nearby – large, grey, and snarling. Harry didn't even have time to think that he was done for before it was on top of him; a sharp pain flared out from his ribs as the gigantic creature tackled him to the ground.

Its teeth, gigantic and yellow, met Harry's wide-eyed stare. Its breath was putrid against his face and fogged his glasses. It growled low and deep, but though it snapped at him several times and caused his heart to leap with dread, it didn't bite.

Harry knew, he just _knew_, that it was Greyback.

And Greyback was flashing him an unpleasant, wolfish smile.

Harry's hand was still on his wand, but Greyback's back paw was crushing Harry's wrist to the ground. He tried to move it, but that just produced another growl from Greyback, so he stilled.

'If you're going to kill me, just do it,' he told Greyback in a raspy voice – it was hard to breathe with the wolf's heavy paw on his chest.

Yet Harry knew that was the last thing Greyback would do; he'd either leave him intact, as Voldemort wanted, or tear him slowly to pieces. For starters, Greyback tore Harry's robes from the neckline down to his chest with his teeth, though he avoided piercing Harry's skin.

Harry gasped in surprise and darting pain as the wolf scratched him hard on the chest. Blood seeped from the deep claw marks, and Greyback dropped his nose to it and sniffed.

Then Greyback raised his head again and licked his own lips. His eyes stared coldly into Harry's foggy glasses, and Harry wondered how long Voldemort's orders would hold enough sway over the wolf to prevent him from lapping at the blood, from biting and breaking and killing…

The flash of green light was sudden and swift; it surrounded Greyback like a shroud for an unforgettable instant and then vanished along with the darkly playful gleam in his eyes. The werewolf's corpse toppled limply onto its side.

Harry kept his eyes on the shadows as he pushed the dead werewolf off him, but his saviour did not appear. As he peeled himself off the branches digging into his back, he thought he heard the crackle of footsteps on the ground – but with another far-off _pop_, whoever it was vanished.

Harry didn't know to whom he owed his life.

He struggled to his feet, all the aches and pains of the night rapidly catching up with him. Even holding his wand was painful for his abused right hand, and there were at least two varieties of dirt in his hair now. He was alone in the dark, and the sounds of nature were making him jumpy. A loud shout perked his ears; he listened as several sets of footsteps approached and cautiously made his way behind a tree.

'There's a dead one up here,' called a voice.

Harry sighed with relief; it was Bill. 'Hey,' he said, emerging from behind the tree.

'Harry!' Bill greeted, lowering his wand. His mouth opened in alarm, but Harry didn't know why. He rushed forward and gripped Harry's shoulders hard. 'Were you bitten?' he demanded.

'What – oh, no. I'm fine, really.'

Bill's grip relaxed but did not recede. 'You're bleeding. We should get this looked at.' He turned Harry around and walked with him in the direction Bill had come from.

Harry chuckled – it turned into more like a cough when the pain in his ribs kicked in. 'Yeah, some of it was from before, though.'

'Before?'

'Never mind. Have you seen Hermione and Ron around?'

Bill nodded. 'They're with Tonks trying to convince her to get you out of Scrimgeour's clutches. It looks like you managed that on your own.'

'Yeah,' Harry said again. It felt like his ribs were on fire. He clutched them with his free hand, and Bill hurried him along, a look of worry showing on his scarred features. Soon after, Harry's tired feet didn't lift up high enough to avoid tripping over a tree root; Bill caught him before he took a tumble.

'Just tired,' Harry told him, brushing off his concern.

Then he saw a gathering of several Order members – including Ron, Hermione, and Neville – in a clearing up ahead. The three spotted him and ran up the hill, grinning until they saw the injury on his chest - which made them pause with concern.

'I'm all right,' he said again. 'Wasn't bitten, I swear.'

Hermione burst into a relieved, tired smile. 'Let's get back to Grimmauld Place. Mrs Weasley just left – she can look at it.'

'And then we can have a well deserved rest, seeing as we won somehow,' Neville piped in. 'It's been a long night.'

'You don't know the half of it,' Harry emphasized.

Yet as they Apparated away, he couldn't help but feel a Portkey-like tug in his stomach; despite all that had happened that night, he knew they hadn't won at all.


	20. Torn Apart

**A/N: **Thanks to my beta reader, Clara Minutes, for checking this over, and to everyone who reviewed - it's great to see that the story is being enjoyed. This chapter covers a lot of ground and doesn't end well..._**  
**_

_**Chapter Twenty: Torn Apart**_

Remus Lupin had a lot to catch up on when he returned to human form the following morning. It thus came as no surprise to Harry – and with some relief, given his own fatigue – that the question of where Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been was not raised officially until early in the afternoon. Mrs Weasley had asked, Tonks had asked, and Neville had asked, but Harry had deferred their questions, telling them that they had been on an undisclosed mission that Remus knew about.

'So where were you?' Remus asked them tiredly. 'Your absence was due to a Horcrux, I assume?'

'Yes,' confirmed Harry. 'And we were successful. You know that stain on the floor?'

'The one Fred and George took credit for? They said they accidentally melted something in an experiment.'

It was true, more or less. 'It was a Horcrux. Hufflepuff's Cup. It's destroyed now,' Harry announced.

Remus smiled weakly. 'That's excellent news. How are the others coming along?'

'Er,' began Hermione, 'we haven't –'

'Of course,' Remus interrupted in a friendly manner, 'I'm sure you haven't had time.'

Harry intended to reenter the mindscape that very day. He was rested, healed, and just a little sore. But first he had to speak with Hermione; she'd been angling for a discussion with him for hours, but Harry had been avoiding her. He'd wanted to gather his own thoughts first, and now he thought he was ready.

So after Remus left them alone, Harry turned to Hermione – but Ron interrupted first. 'Pretty neat how Neville killed a werewolf,' he remarked, looking wistful. 'I can't get over that. Tonks says that he was her right-hand man out there.'

'Yes, it's good for him,' agreed Hermione, not sounding overly interested. 'Harry, we have to talk.'

Those dreaded words. 'I know.'

Ron seemed confused. 'What about?'

Hermione had a rehearsed speech look on her face; she was concentrated and focused on saying everything right. 'Last night when we returned we found the note left for us crumpled and thrown into the bushes. Someone did that – someone not in the Order. I think it was Snape because he's the only Death Eater who could have reached the door.'

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione silenced him with a raised hand. 'Please, let me finish. If it _was_ Snape, he must have known that we were gone that night – which means that he knew we were after a Horcrux.

'I think Voldemort didn't want to risk you getting hurt, Harry. I think that's why the werewolves were called off barely fifteen minutes after we arrived. What I don't understand is why Voldemort wouldn't have stopped us from destroying the Horcrux if he knew what we were doing.'

Ron's mouth hung open. 'That's…that's nuts, Hermione.'

'Then how did the note get in the bushes?' she challenged him.

'That's not the only thing that doesn't make sense about your theory,' Harry told her, brushing aside her question for the moment. 'If Snape wanted us not to get that note, he would have set it on fire or something – not just throw it in the bushes.'

Hermione chewed her lip. 'That…that's a good point…'

'But you're right about the attack being called off because of me – I even heard a Death Eater say it.'

Her jaw dropped. 'You _what?_ Why didn't you say anything?'

Harry couldn't help but smile. 'I was, well, sleeping.'

'_Before_ that,' Hermione uttered mutinously.

He smirked, but then frowned deeply. 'Maybe they were planning to delay me somehow, and they got lucky because we were busy with the Horcrux. It can't be that Voldemort knew about it. He would have stopped us. Horcruxes are too valuable to use as bait to lead me away from a werewolf attack.'

'I…I suppose…' But Hermione was still unsure. 'Still, the note…'

'I don't know,' admitted Harry. 'Maybe someone from the Order did it accidentally. It doesn't matter now. We need to move forward. We finished off one Horcrux last night, but there's a lot more for us to do.'

Harry turned to Ron. 'We need to go back inside the mindscape.'

Ron nodded, looking unsurprised. 'Yeah, I figured. Today?'

'There's no time like the present,' Harry declared. Now that they were on a roll, a secret part of Harry was really hoping to destroy all the Horcruxes before Ginny's return in December…

* * *

Mrs Weasley went with them to St Mungo's; Harry felt slightly guilty about dragging her away from the house when she was so tired. But she insisted – 'I was going to see Arthur today anyway,' she told them. 'It's no trouble.'

As usual, Harry shuffled to the elevator with Ron and Hermione in his Invisibility Cloak and threw it off once he got near the ward. The Healer-in-Charge hadn't reported him the last time he'd visited, so there was no reason for Harry to think he'd squeal to the Ministry now, either.

He and Hermione opened the door to the mindscape together. The mindscape was the same as before; they made a beeline for the chess board, the obvious place to find the next Horcrux clue.

He reached out right away to take another piece – this time he stretched toward the back of the board on the first tier. He grabbed the pawn between his fingers and dragged it away from the chess board, but nothing happened.

He and Hermione looked it over. There was nothing special about it. Harry tried putting it back on the board and picking it up again, and when that didn't work, he tried every other chess piece – even the ones knocked over already – but no more clues appeared.

Hermione sighed. 'We really were _very_ lucky before. I suppose we'll have to try harder this time.'

They searched for as long as they were able to stay inside safely, combing through as many of the seemingly thousands of things inside as they could. Harry's heart sank at their lack of results. 'If we stay a little longer –'

'Not today, Harry.' Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. 'We have to leave now. There's nothing here.'

Harry sighed, but he assented. He gave the snow globe one last look. 'Wait. I want to know what's in there.'

'I don't –'

He walked toward it as fast as he could before he changed his mind.

'Harry!' said Hermione, her voice tinged with fear.

By the time he got close enough to touch it, the sound the snow was making was like popcorn popping. He picked it up, and it vibrated in his hands. That feeling he got that he should _put it down_ intensified, but he ignored it and tried to see inside.

It was impossible. The snow wouldn't stop spinning. All he could see was a haze of white.

Harry reluctantly set the globe down again. 'Yeah, let's go.'

* * *

The wizarding world cowered in the wake of the werewolf attack. Though the werewolves had retreated in the end, a few intrepid reporters managed to wangle the truth of the matter – and as soon as the number of werewolves was reported in the _Prophet _(more than two for every Auror), a dreading stillness descended on the wizarding world. Even Fred and George may have struggled for business without their latest draw: _The Boy Who Lived in a Box._

One person who was positively affected by the event was Neville Longbottom, whose confidence had ballooned. With Harry away, Neville had been thrown into the foreground for the first time, and he'd seen that he could stand on his own two feet. Neville and Hermione could now fight to a stalemate in a practice duel – all because Neville believed in himself.

Harry continued to venture into the mindscape at least once every few days. He thoroughly examined everything inside, but nothing bore any clear clue about the location of the remaining missing Horcrux – "something" of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's.

He even tried his best to smash the snow globe, but it was impervious to damage. He left it somewhere else in the room, but it was back in the corner by the next day. Then he had Hermione go in alone to examine it – the globe seemed to react particularly strongly, almost angrily, to Harry's presence – but she wasn't able to see anything in it either.

Yet Harry was certain that it was important. He kept being drawn back to the snow globe as if the room revolved around whatever was inside.

Meanwhile Hermione and Ron tried to discover what possible relic of Ravenclaw's the Horcrux could be; the only known relics of Gryffindor's were at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, relics of Ravenclaw were more common than those of Gryffindor or Slytherin – she had apparently collected as many gadgets and thingies as Dumbledore. More fortunately, most of them were accounted for; together they slowly scratched items off the list.

On the one month anniversary of the werewolf attack, Harry tried not to think about his lack of success. He was becoming _very_ good at Legilimency – unlike Occlumency, Harry had a knack for it. A month or two more and he knew he'd be looking forward to his next encounter with Snape. Though Snape would be able to see through Harry's own meagre Occlumency defences like clear water, Harry was hopeful that he could break into Snape's thoughts as well, putting them on an even playing field for the first time.

But it was hard for Harry to be positive when he was positively bored. Only Moody, with decades of tricks up his sleeves, was much of a match for Harry these days, and Moody was too busy to duel that day – the Order was concerned about another werewolf attack.

Thus Harry was left flipping through books on Ravenclaw, her distant relations, and antique collectors as he thoughtlessly flipped the fake locket open and shut.

_Click, click, click, click –_

He was surprised to hear a knock on the door. Hermione jumped up to answer it; she was as tired as he and Ron were of sitting still.

Remus was on the other side, very haggard and oddly pleased. 'There's a visitor for you,' he declared, looking at Harry. 'Aberforth spotted Kitty York in the Hog's Head and alerted me. We managed to slip her an invitation, so now she's down in the kitchen –'

Harry was out the door before Remus finished. 'Thanks!' he shouted back, pounding down the stairs. Hermione and Ron happily followed. It was unexpectedly wonderful news; Kitty York might have some ideas for how to access Harry's mum's belongings…

They found Kitty sipping a cup of tea with Mrs Weasley. Her large face lit up when she saw Harry. 'Well!' she exclaimed as Harry took a seat. 'And these are your friends?'

'Yeah – Ron, Hermione, this is Kitty York, a friend of my mum's from school.'

'Pleased to meet you,' said Hermione.

Ron agreed, 'Yeah, nice to meet you.'

'Likewise,' replied Kitty with a wide smile and big teeth. 'I'm sorry I had to rush away when we met,' she told Harry, biting her lip guiltily.

Harry brushed aside her apology. 'It wasn't your fault…but I'm hoping you can tell me more about the bag.'

Kitty's face fell, and Harry's fell with it. 'Oh…I'm really sorry, but I don't know anything…I'll admit I tried to open it a few times over the years…but it's very stubborn, isn't it? It reminds me of Lily that way…'

Seeming suddenly very sad, she added, 'She gave it to me just a week before she was killed…she told me to keep it safe. Lily was very serious about it. I hope you manage to open it eventually.'

'Me too,' Harry agreed. 'You…you knew my mum well, then?'

'Yes! We were good friends. I was a year above her at Hogwarts, but I didn't fit in very well with the girls in my year…Lily and I got along, and we kept in touch after Hogwarts. Every Monday we got together for lunch and commiserated about having to go back to work for the rest of the week…and every Friday before she got married we went out to celebrate the arrival of the weekend!'

Harry found himself smiling at the description of his mother. He was raptly attentive as Kitty continued her description of Lily – fond of work, not fond of her boss, intense and sometimes secretive, in love with Harry's dad (after a while), in love with Harry (always).

But eventually the topic came round to Kitty herself. 'What will you do?' Harry asked her.

She blinked in a sad sort of way. 'I'm going home. I've been living in Australia for years. Remus Lupin says he's able to help me escape Britain – the Ministry can't extradite me without a case, which they most certainly don't have. All they want is that bag – that's why I moved in the first place. I couldn't give it up for Lily's sake, but I was tired of the intrigue.'

Harry felt a great deal of sympathy and respect for Kitty York. She'd changed her whole life just to be faithful to his mother – to keep that bag out of Ministry hands.

He noticed that her tea was empty. 'Here, allow me,' he said before Mrs Weasley, also listening intently with tears in her eyes, could object. It was Harry's house – he was getting more comfortable with thinking of Grimmauld Place as his – so he ought to play host.

As he walked away, he felt something slip out of his pocket and heard it clatter to the floor. He looked around for it briefly and then sighed. It was the fake locket he'd been toying with. Harry picked it up.

Kitty had turned around in her chair at the sound and watched him. She smiled broadly. 'Why, it's been ages since I've seen that locket,' she remarked.

Harry stopped with the teapot in his hand. '…What?'

Wistfully, Kitty continued in a conspiratorial voice, 'I remember when James got her that. He was a good man, your father, but hopeless with birthdays, anniversaries, that sort of thing. It was their one-year anniversary, and Lily _knew_ he'd forgot, so the first thing she did that morning was give him a passionate kiss – in public, no less – and tell him how eager she was to see what he had planned for the evening of their anniversary. Then she walked off and left him blubbering like a fish!'

Kitty laughed out loud at the memory, and Mrs Weasley laughed at the telling of it.

'That's just like a man!' Mrs Weasley declared, and the two tittered as Harry's mouth opened dumbly in stupefaction.

'But of course, James being James, he managed to pull something together in the nick of time – and he gave her that locket. I'd recognize it from a mile away – Lily kept it with her all the time for years from then on. Goodness knows where he got it from; he didn't have time to get it engraved, obviously...'

Kitty frowned when she noticed that Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't seem to be enjoying the story. 'What's the matter?' she asked.

Ron and Hermione were gaping at Harry as if he'd contracted a flesh-eating disease. 'You…that's…this wasn't…are you sure?'

'Sure of what?' Kitty asked with an uncomprehending frown.

'This locket – it was my mum's locket?'

Kitty pursed her lips; Harry's lack of sureness seemed to decrease her own certainty. 'Give it here.'

She held out her hand.

Harry handed the locket to her, and Kitty examined it. A satisfied expression fell over her face. 'Yes, yes I'm sure of it. This is it. It's even got that little scratch on the side from when it fell onto the sidewalk after the clasp broke. The portrait's gone, though – there was a picture of James in it before. Oh, it was a lovely picture; it was taken when…'

Kitty continued with her story. Words wouldn't come out of Harry's throat.

He poured the tea and kept his ear open for more details about his mum – but his brain couldn't get past the knowledge that his mother's locket had ended up where Voldemort's was supposed to be.

* * *

Kitty York was gone the next morning. She stayed overnight and was then snuck back to Australia courtesy of an Order contact.

Harry managed to avoid Hermione and Ron's questions until she was gone; he really did want to hear as much about his mother as he could, so he pushed the locket out of his mind and concentrated on drinking in all of Kitty's knowledge of Lily Potter.

But now Kitty wasn't there to distract him, so the locket settled in like a storm cloud; Ron and Hermione cornered him.

'How do you suppose your mother's locket got into the cave?' Hermione asked him as if she expected him to have an answer – but Harry could only shake his head.

'Maybe Regulus stole it,' supplied Ron.

The locket hadn't left Harry's pocket since Kitty had handed it back to him. He clutched it very tightly in his hand. 'I don't know – but I know who does.'

At Hermione and Ron's questioning looks, Harry went up the stairs. They followed, and he produced the satchel with his mother's mysterious belongings guarded by her simulacrum. He pretended to try to open the bag, and the simulacrum appeared.

'Hello,' she said, smiling down at him. He hadn't touched the bag for a long while – he'd forgotten the semi-pleasant, semi-wrenching feelings _she_ produced in him. Those emotions came flooding back at once.

'Hello,' he replied, trying to keep his tone disinterested. 'Can you tell me why this locket was in the cave instead of Voldemort's Horcrux?'

The fake Lily's face took on a new expression entirely; a glow rose in her cheeks, and a twinkle sparked in her eye. She seemed more alive, more like his mum.

'Oh, you're terribly close, aren't you?' she said in a low voice. '_Yes, _I can – but not until you tell me what you would do with such knowledge.'

'Wait, your mum knew about the Horcruxes?' asked Hermione, eyes bugged out in surprise. '_How?_'

Harry had no idea, but he had to answer the simulacrum's question. He frowned and thought hard. What answer did she _want? _He tried being honest. 'I want to defeat Voldemort.'

He could feel the simulacrum's eyes examining his to test for veracity. '"Defeat" is such a general word,' she mused. 'Defeat him how?'

Harry raised an eyebrow at the bizarre query. 'By destroying his Horcruxes and then killing him,' he replied baldly. What other way was there to do it?

Her face fell into a stern look. Then, as if the life in her had been drawn inward again, her expression turned into an unrealistically large, apologetic smile. 'Sorry, that's not the answer.'

'Harry, your _mum_ knew about Horcruxes!' Hermione hissed again.

'Yeah, I got that, thanks. What about it? She could have found out from Slughorn.' Though Harry doubted it – after how it had turned out with Tom Riddle, Slughorn was probably clever enough to keep his mouth shut about Horcruxes from then on.

'Don't you understand what that _means_?' she continued, looking both aghast and frantic.

Ron was white. Harry didn't understand at all what they were so disturbed by. 'What?'

Hermione bit her lip. 'Your mother…might have...she might have made a Horcrux! That's what could be in the bag! Harry, _if_ she made a Horcrux…'

Harry considered the implications – for a few brief moments. Then, not entirely sure how to feel, he replied quietly, but with certainty, 'No – she couldn't have. My mother _wouldn't_ have done that. Her sacrifice wouldn't have saved me if her soul wasn't whole. She couldn't have died for me.'

Hermione's face fell. Ron smiled with relief. 'Oh,' Hermione said weakly. 'Oh. I'm…I'm sorry, Harry –'

'Don't be. I'm glad she didn't.' Or so Harry was trying to think he was. 'My mum wouldn't be herself anymore if she'd made a Horcrux.'

Ron looked away, understanding at that moment why Hermione was so upset. 'But she could have been brought back from the dead.'

'No,' Harry reminded Ron strongly. '_Nothing_ can bring back the dead. My mum wouldn't have died – she _couldn't_ have died, just like Voldemort.'

The thought of any comparison, even hypothetical, between his mother and Voldemort sent a shiver down Harry's spine. Yet part of him did think it would be…nice…if his mum had left a Horcrux behind, even if it was, fortunately, completely impossible.

But the bag's contents still took on a new sense of urgency. It didn't just contain a potential way to stop the Dementors – there could be some clue about defeating Voldemort himself…

* * *

Slughorn had moved again – but at least he'd told the Order. When Harry arrived, he immediately asked how the Legilimency was coming along.

'Great,' replied Harry with sincerity. 'This house is bigger than the last.'

Slughorn brimmed with pleasure as if Harry had given him a personal compliment. 'Well, yes, I spent ages searching for just the right one…it's hard to find _appropriate_ empty houses now that the summer holidays are over…the owners of this one here are in Brazil.'

At least they were starting off on the right foot. 'I'm here to ask you about my mum.'

'Ah, I see. What about her?'

Harry cringed. He hadn't realized asking this question would be so uncomfortable – which was foolish of him. It had taken all of his luck and cunning to get anything about his memory of telling Tom Riddle about Horcruxes out of Slughorn. He might boot him out of the house for asking another such question.

'I…I need to know if my mother ever asked you about Horcruxes.' At the turn in Slughorn's expression, Harry rushed to add, 'I'm not accusing you of telling her – I just need to know if she asked, that's all.'

'No!' he insisted in a shocked voice, shaking his head. 'Your mother would never, _ever_ ask such a thing. Why, Lily Potter, interested in Horcruxes? I can't think of a single person _less_ likely to ask!'

Harry was no expert at truth-telling – well, he sort of was now, but using Legilimency on Slughorn didn't strike Harry as the best of ideas – but Slughorn seemed fervently honest. He hadn't been a good liar at all before.

Harry decided to butter him up and take one last stab at him. 'Okay, sir. I was just wondering because it seems that she definitely knew something about them, and I thought she might have asked you, since you were one of her favourite teachers.'

Slughorn blinked. 'She _did_ know about Horcruxes? No! She didn't!'

'She did,' Harry confirmed.

Slughorn was unwilling to believe it. Harry was certain that Slughorn had nothing to do with whatever his mum had found out about Horcruxes, so he cut their meeting short after that; following some pleasantries, he was off again.

Harry as he walked away from the house under his Invisibility Cloak. _Then how _did_ she learn about Horcruxes?_

* * *

'We've narrowed it down to two,' said Hermione as they discussed the potential Horcruxes that were Ravenclaw artefacts. 'The first is Ravenclaw's Hourglass. It's said to be a precursor to the Time-Turners. Someone in Ravenclaw's line had it until 1849; then the family sold it, and it was bought by a collector in Algeria. We haven't managed to track it down after that.'

Hermione cringed. 'And then there's an item that's…ickier. Rowena Ravenclaw's heart was removed from her body by her eldest son, whom she didn't get on with very well –'

'There's an understatement,' muttered Ron. 'Even Percy wouldn't rip Mum's heart out after she died.'

'– and there have been several parties over the years claiming they have it preserved in a jar. There are a few potential hearts out there, and proving which heart is really Ravenclaw's – if any – has stymied the best magical minds tackling the problem.'

Ron scrunched his face in disapproval. 'What I want to know is where the ones that _aren't_ Ravenclaw's came from.'

Harry nodded in agreement, disgusted. 'Great, so it's either an hourglass or a heart.'

'A _still-beating_ heart,' added Hermione. 'I wonder what spell was used to –'

'Don't,' interrupted Ron. He put his arm over Hermione's shoulder. 'There are some things even you don't need to know.'

'Knowing Voldemort, let's assume the grosser of the two options. It sounds like we're looking for Ravenclaw's still-beating heart,' Harry declared.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'Great. Wonderful. And here I was thinking that nothing could top running around in the sewers and nearly getting my arm lobbed off.'

'There's still time for you to go to Beauxbatons,' teased Hermione with a smirk.

Harry looked at his watch. 'Speaking of time, I'd better head off to Godric's Hollow.' He glanced at the bundle of flowers he'd set down on his bed to bring his parents. It was Halloween – the anniversary of their deaths – and Harry was hoping that this visit to his mum and dad would go better than the last one had.

'Ron and I will come with you,' Hermione said with an insistent look. 'It's not good for anyone to be out alone in the dark these days, let alone you – and don't forget that the Ministry might have law enforcement staking out their graves tonight in case you show up.'

* * *

They circled the relevant part of the graveyard a few times. Hermione cast spells intended to reveal anything hidden – like a trap or a person – before she reluctantly agreed that she and Ron would stay where they were while Harry spoke to his parents.

It was a cool, clear night; the stars shone brightly overhead. Wet grass crunched under Harry's feet as he made his way to his parent's graves. He kept alert in case there was someone still out there waiting for him.

Harry's stomach was in knots; he tried to hear any suspicious sounds over the chirping of the crickets and did his best not to crinkle the paper the flowers were wrapped in as his hands clenched.

As he approached, Harry could feel that something was wrong, but he didn't know what. If Ron and Hermione hadn't been there, he'd have taken a run to the grave, but he knew they'd think something was wrong and come after him.

So he walked calmly, though he could hardly bear to.

When his eyes came within range of his parent's grave, Harry gave up being calm immediately and sprinted toward it as fast as he could.

He faced his parents, and his heart lurched at the sight.

The tombstone had been knocked over onto its back; it was cracked down the middle. At Harry's feet was a hole as deep and long as he was tall. The casket that should have been there was missing.

Red roses dropped from Harry's unsteady arm and fell into the hole. He stared at him as he listened to Ron and Hermione approach.

'Oh Harry,' whispered Hermione when she saw what had happened. Her eyes were wide open in horror.

'Who would –' began Ron, but he stopped before the remaining words left his mouth.

One of Harry's parents' bodies had been stolen, and the footprints leading a few steps away from the grave before vanishing told Harry that it had been done very recently – probably that very night.

'Which one did they take?' he mouthed, staring down at the flowers. For a moment his mind was blank, but once sense returned, Harry was sure he already knew the answer.

Lily Potter's remains had been stolen.

* * *

They returned to Grimmauld Place without a sound. Hermione's hand hadn't left Harry's arm since she'd Apparated him back. He couldn't meet his friend's eyes; he stared instead at the curtains over Mrs Black's portrait.

Mrs Weasley came to greet them; Harry had told her where they were going. 'How was it?' she asked before her eyes fell on Harry's pale face. Her smile dropped. 'What happened? Were there Ministry people there?'

Silence followed as Harry tried to work his mouth around the proper words. Just as Hermione opened her mouth to explain instead, Harry said, 'They took my mum.' His voice was barely above a whisper.

He watched the expression on Mrs Weasley's face change to the same horrified look Hermione had worn at first. She approached Harry carefully and placed her hands on his shoulders. 'Are…are you sure?'

Ron's grim nod affirmed what Harry had told her. One of Mrs Weasley's hands flew off Harry's shoulder to cover her mouth, gaping in shock.

Together the three shuffled Harry into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Harry's thoughts were still in the graveyard – he was staring at the flowers he had dropped. The roses were all dirty now. His mum would never see them.

The group passed Remus on the way; Harry didn't glance at him. As soon as he saw their faces, Remus followed them, and Harry heard the beginnings of Hermione whispering before his attention was caught by the broken gravestone. He imagined it falling down, _crack_ –

'Good God,' exclaimed Remus. Harry didn't turn around.

A half hour later, after Harry had drained his tea, he was calmer. The discussion in the room had changed to a more benign topic; they were watching for Harry to snap out of it.

'I suppose it was Voldemort,' Harry interrupted abruptly. Mrs Weasley's teacup shook in her hand.

'That seems like the most likely explanation,' agreed Hermione with a sad note in her voice. 'But why now? If he wanted to, he could have done this years ago.'

'Maybe it's a present,' Harry remarked distantly. 'Maybe Bellatrix Lestrange thinks it's funny.'

The room was quiet again after that for a while. Harry had another cup of tea.

'Molly!' a female voice called from upstairs.

Mrs Weasley stood up. 'Down here!' she shouted back.

Footsteps – at least two pairs – tumbled down the stairs at a fast pace. Harry knew it couldn't be good news.

Tonks rushed in, and she was tugging on the sleeve of someone's robe. 'Something's happened,' she informed them, grim enough to fit with the rest of the room.

Her companion came into the dim kitchen light. It was a quiet, subdued Weasley twin, his shoulders hunched.

'What is it, Fred? You're injured!' cried Mrs Weasley. She rushed over and inspected the bloody gash over Fred's eye.

'I'm fine,' said Fred, though he didn't sound fine at all. His voice was weak and reluctant, and he wouldn't meet his mother's eyes.

'What happened?' asked Harry. He stood up and brushed off his own problems unthinkingly.

As though he were coming out of a deep haze, Fred noticed Harry and strode over to him, ignoring his mother's efforts to keep him still.

'You have to help,' Fred said to Harry, his voice shaking.

He'd never seen Fred look like that or sound like that; Harry was deeply concerned. 'What's wrong?' he asked slowly and calmly. 'I'll do whatever I can to help sort it out.'

Fred swallowed. 'There was an attack…at the store. Someone's dead – Penelope Clearwater is dead. And George,' he said. His haunted eyes stared right through Harry.

'They took George.'


	21. Triple Crossed

**A/N: **It's been too long since an update, I know. A combination of being busy and being depressed is to blame. The 7th book is going to be published soon, and I still have a (possibly insane) hope of getting this fic posted completely before that time...we shall see..._**  
**_

_**Chapter Twenty-One: Triple-Crossed**_

George Weasley was no longer struggling against his captors. There was no point – the underground complex he was being paraded through was crawling with masked Death Eaters. His pockets, even the ones inside his robes, had been emptied while he was unconscious; he had nothing to fight them with.

George wondered how he'd ended up this way. He couldn't remember what had happened. He and Fred had been closing up shop after their Halloween Blow-Out Sale – _Everything Must Go!_ Then someone had come into the shop – George wondered if it had been a Death Eater.

Then he shook his head. No, it had been Penelope Clearwater, Percy's old girlfriend. They'd asked after Percy, and George couldn't remember her answer. At some point, she'd fallen down dead, and Death Eaters had stormed the shop.

George's mouth quirked in amusement; he knew that he and Fred must have given them a fight, but here he was anyway.

He wasn't stupid. He fully expected to die that night in some gruesomely painful way – but first he intended to give a piece of his mind to a certain bloke. He'd been told he was going to see the Dark Lord, and he intended to have some fun before he was tortured. He owed it to Fred to go out with a bang.

George frowned in confusion – he couldn't remember what had happened to Fred.

The tunnels seemed never-ending, but eventually George was brought before a large stone door with a serpent carved in the centre. 'Gee, subtle, isn't he?' he remarked to his captors.

'Shut up,' said the Death Eater leading him as another banged the door knocker.

_Boom, boom, boom._

After a few seconds, the door slowly opened inward. The inside of the room was a lot different from the barely-lit passages George had travelled; it was opulent, with flickers of gold catching George's eye everywhere and carpets lining the floor. He didn't have much inclination to look around further, but he did notice the skeleton chained to the wall behind a tall, imposing throne.

In the throne was a shrivelled figure shrouded in black from head to toe. The realization of who it must be made him instinctively shrink back – but when the Death Eaters prodded George forward, he held his head high and tried not to be afraid, deciding that insane bravery was better than cowardice.

'Which of them is this one?' asked the figure in a high, croaking voice.

'My Lord, this is George Weasley,' said one of the Death Eaters. George caught a glimpse of another Death Eater skulking in the corner of the room, but his head quickly snapped back to the Dark Lord.

'I can introduce myself, thanks,' sniped George. He mock-bowed and declared, 'George Weasley, most _dis_pleased to meet you, Your Rancid Ugliness.'

The Death Eater behind him hissed in fury. 'Why you –'

Lord Voldemort held up one black-gloved hand to silence his minion. 'Sticks and stones, Mr Weasley.'

'At least he's not pissing himself on the carpet,' the Death Eater in the corner noted dryly.

George recognized his voice right off. The fear he'd been hiding fell against the might of his hatred. 'Snape,' he said with a sneer.

'You're stealing my thunder, Severus,' said Voldemort with a warning edge that made Snape take a step back.

Voldemort's attention returned to George. 'Have a seat.'

He waved his wand, and a short chair materialized across from Voldemort's throne. With another flick of Voldemort's wrist, George found himself materialized into the chair. He blinked away his disorientation.

George's nose wrinkled at the odd smell of decay in the air.

'Tell me who the Order's Secret-Keeper is,' spoke Voldemort.

'Remus Lupin,' George replied immediately. His eyes opened wide in terror, and he gripped his throat with his hand, not knowing how the words had gotten out.

'Hmm, yes. The werewolf. Something will have to be done about him.'

Voldemort threw off his hood, and George recoiled in disgusted horror. Some of the flesh on his face was eaten away; his tongue was visible through ragged holes in his cheeks.

Then George felt claws dig into his mind. He tossed his head from side to side in uncontrolled agony as images and voices flashed in quick succession.

Just when it seemed like they couldn't get inside him any further, the claws retracted, leaving George violated and not so brave as before.

'Severus,' hissed Voldemort, 'what is this I see about an attempt on Potter's life?'

After a brief pause, Snape coolly replied, 'I don't know what you mean, my Lord.'

'It took place this summer. The boy here knows all about it.' Voldemort indicated George with a long finger. 'Strange, that he should know something _I _do not, isn't it?'

'If you're referring to Greyback –'

'_Before_ that! The Imperius Curse was cast on one of Potter's friends – this one's brother. That friend tried to murder him in his bed! _Why_ was I not informed of this?'

Voldemort ascended from his seat and turned on Snape with a snarl.

Snape bowed his head. 'Should I investigate on your behalf?'

Voldemort turned his back on Snape and made his way for the door. 'No! I shall do it myself!' He threw the drooping hood back over his head. 'Bring the boy!'

George found himself being hauled out of the chair and out into the passageway in Voldemort's wake. He was too dizzy to resist. They turned several corners in the complex; Voldemort was well ahead of them, and those of Voldemort's followers who George passed on the way were either flattened against the wall or cowering on their knees.

The Death Eaters hauling George both paused at once. Each grasped his own arm.

'He's calling a meeting,' said one.

From behind them, Snape added, 'Of course. He wishes to know who the traitor among our number is.'

'Traitor?' said the other in panic.

'Yes, Oswald,' Snape said mockingly. 'Obviously there must be a traitor in our midst who tried to kill Potter without the Dark Lord's knowledge. You were in the room when this was discovered, yet still you must play catch-up?'

Snape ushered them forward, apparently anxious to get to the meeting room as soon as possible.

It was a large, undecorated, circular cavern with steps leading to a larger throne than the one before. A gigantic snake was coiled on the ground at Voldemort's feet. As more cloaked figures gathered in the room, the snake reared its head and watched closely as the Death Eaters filed in. It hissed at Snape in particular, which made George smirk – the snake was a better judge of character than its master.

The room was full within minutes. A couple dozen of Voldemort's followers gathered. George was pushed forward and pressed to his knees by the side of Voldemort's throne. The snake hissed at him more menacingly than it had at Snape, and he gulped.

Now that George was closer to Voldemort than ever before, the stench of his decaying flesh was nearly unbearable.

'Tonight I have captured a member of the Order of the Phoenix – one that is well-connected to Harry Potter.' He cut off the cheers with a jerk of his hand. 'Through examining his mind, I have determined that there was an attempt on Potter's life months ago that none of you bothered to inform me of – and _don't_ tell me that no one knew!'

No one spoke. The tension in the room rose. In a low voice, Lord Voldemort spoke, 'Draco Malfoy, step forward.'

The Death Eater crowd parted instantly to let him through. Draco Malfoy threw off his mask and hood and knelt on one knee before his master – but he stayed silent.

Voldemort again took off his hood, and George watched as the Death Eaters stiffened at the sight of him. 'Look at me,' he commanded to Draco.

With visible reluctance, Draco's eyes rose to Voldemort's…

'My Lord!' said Snape. Voldemort's head snapped up. Snape came forward and knelt beside Draco. 'You have my sincerest apologies for not informing you of the incident with Potter earlier.'

'Oh?' remarked Voldemort, his light tone contrasting with the readying of his wand. 'So you _lied_ to me, Severus?'

Snape bowed his head even lower, a curtain of hair concealing his eyes. 'No, My Lord. I thought you had been told, given that the one responsible is one of your most trusted servants.'

Terror snapped through the room in an instant. Several of the Death Eaters shook in place. 'And who might that be, Severus? Look at me!'

Snape raised his head and looked Voldemort in the eye. For a full minute, the room was silent but for the sound of the snake shifting its coils. Finally Voldemort's eyes broke away from Snape's, and Snape bowed his head again.

'Bella,' whispered Voldemort.

A woman at the front of the crowd removed her mask and took down her hood. Her eyes were wide with fear. 'My Lord?'

'Severus seems to think that you were responsible for the attempt on Potter's life. Is this true?'

Bellatrix Lestrange opened her mouth and, glaring at Snape with unhidden fury, screeched, 'It is _not_! I did no such thing! Why would I?! You told us to leave Potter alone!'

'Yet someone has disobeyed that order, and you have been accused!' Voldemort stepped out of his chair, and Draco and Snape quickly stood up and shuffled back to make way for him. 'Look into my eyes, Bella!'

Bellatrix did so unflinchingly. George's attention was caught by the sight of Snape's wand; unseen by the rest of the room, it flicked in Bellatrix's direction.

Within moments, Voldemort withdrew. 'You lie!' he accused.

Shaking in terror, Bellatrix fell to the ground in a deep bow. 'My Lord, I promise –'

'_Crucio!_'

Her shrill screams echoed in the room with such force that they seemed to come from everywhere. George averted his eyes; by accident, he found himself staring straight at Snape and Malfoy.

Malfoy's eyes were at first fixed on Bellatrix, and George could see his surprise and fear. Then he turned to Snape and tugged on the sleeve of his robes, trying to get his attention. Snape completely ignored Malfoy; when he noticed George observing him, he glared at him angrily, but George continued to stare unflinchingly.

_I know, you bastard,_ he thought, a triumphant smile on his face as their body language gave the pair away. _It was you, and you're going to get yours –_

Then Snape flicked his wand again – in George's direction. The next moment he found himself frowning and blinking repeatedly. Hadn't he been thinking something important just a moment ago? Whatever it was, he couldn't recall it anymore.

Bellatrix's shrieks died down; soon she was silent, flopping against the floor like a fish out of water. 'Let this be a lesson to you all,' said Voldemort menacingly to his servants.

Still holding the spell on Bellatrix, he turned to Snape. 'I will need Lucius now that Bella cannot be relied upon. It is time for us to reclaim our comrades from Azkaban. You will lead a small party to retrieve them tomorrow night.'

'Of course, My Lord, if that is your desire.'

'I know that it has been _yours_ for some time,' answered Voldemort with a shrewd look.

Snape did not dispute it; he bowed again to his master. Voldemort lifted the Cruciatus Curse – but Bellatrix didn't move. 'Alecto, take her to the dungeon. I'm not done with her yet.'

A stout Death Eater emerged and levitated Bellatrix out of the room. 'As for the rest of you, keep to your _assigned_ tasks. Hinder the Ministry and the Order, torment the Muggles and the cowardly wizards who do not join us, but Potter is not to be harmed. If he comes within view, you are far too close to him. Is that understood?'

A chorus of agreement rippled through the room. 'Bring him,' said Voldemort, indicating George to the two Death Eaters who'd carted him around before.

As he left the room in Voldemort's wake, glaring at the bowed Death Eaters, George wondered what the most evil wizard of the age had in store for him…

* * *

Snape strode quickly from the room after Voldemort and Weasley were gone; Draco followed on his heels. Once the crowd had thinned to nothing and they were in a small washroom alone, he said, 'You didn't have to use _her_.'

Snape rolled his eyes and cast a spell to prevent anyone from overhearing them. 'Of course I did,' he replied smoothly. 'She has a reputation for being foolish and impulsive. It was believable. Considering that it got your father out of Azkaban, I don't see what you could possibly have to complain about.'

'I'm not complaining,' muttered Draco. 'I'm just saying –'

'Would you have preferred that I let the Dark Lord know about your activities?' Snape stopped and turned on him. 'Not only did you attempt –'

'I didn't attempt anything!' interrupted Draco in annoyance. '_You _wanted Weasley under Imperius so we could watch Potter, _you _had me cast the spell –'

'I _trained_ you because I wouldn't have been able to carry the operation out properly,' he answered calmly. 'I'm not a seventeen-year-old, and acting like one would have been challenging. You were perfect for the task – and the Dark Lord would have been pleased with you if you hadn't ruined it. _Perhaps_ your father would be out of Azkaban already.'

The accusation stung, and Draco lashed out, 'They would have found me out anyway! It was a dumb idea! Do you know how many funny looks I got at that bachelor party because I didn't know all their stupid stories about Uncle Bert this and Aunt whatever that?!

'It would have blown over,' said Snape with disdain. 'Instead you ruined everything by trying to kill Potter – and you couldn't even do that right.'

Draco stared at the ground as they walked again, sulking. It wasn't entirely true; he hadn't _really_ tried to kill Potter. He was going to, but then that bloody knot in his stomach had tightened up, and he'd thrown off the spell on purpose.

But Snape didn't need to know that. He thought little enough of Draco already.

'You've made your share of mistakes,' Draco accused angrily. 'Like the werewolf attack – you were _supposed_ to keep Potter away!'

Snape was quiet for a moment. 'I've paid for that, dearly,' he replied softly, staring at his own hands – his fingernails were thick with dirt. Snape went to the sink and scrubbed his hands.

'Even the Dark Lord's favourites cannot make such errors with impunity. You, being far from his favourite, cannot be discovered to have gone near Potter. You would pay with your life – as Bellatrix will now pay with whatever remains of her sanity, at the least.'

Draco frowned. He'd forgotten that he had a request to make; he wished now that he hadn't antagonized Snape. 'I want to go to Azkaban with you to get my father,' he declared. While he sounded proud, as he knew he always should, he bit his lip unconsciously, nervously waiting for Snape's reply.

Snape shrugged. 'As you wish. It is not a particularly dangerous mission – but you will follow my orders, and you will stay back while the rest of us deal with the guards.'

That was fine with Draco; he wasn't suicidal. 'Okay,' he agreed.

The first item was now scratched off his agenda with Snape. There was one other, but he needed to be much less direct about it. 'What do you suppose the Dark Lord will do with Weasley?' he asked casually, leaning against the wall.

Snape quirked an eyebrow. 'Why would you care?' he wondered.

Draco scowled and wondered how much more direct he could be without getting into trouble. 'Just curious,' he answered.

'Curiosity is not a good enough reason to stick your nose in the Dark Lord's affairs.'

'I don't want details,' he argued – as if anyone but his Aunt Bella would want to know about the ins and outs of the Dark Lord's torture routine. 'I'm just wondering if he'll be killed tonight or not.'

Snape looked at him suspiciously, and Draco was beginning to wish he hadn't asked. '…No,' he told Draco after a pregnant pause. 'I don't expect he will kill him. He asked for the Weasley twins specifically. Their inventiveness has caught his attention – particularly that simulacrum of Potter.'

Draco didn't try to hide his surprise. 'You mean he wants them to _work_ for us – like Ollivander?'

Snape smirked. 'Yes, after he's squeezed all the information he can out of him. But I doubt that Weasley will be as…_cooperative_ as Ollivander. I suppose that the Dark Lord will threaten to murder his brother – Weasley won't know that his twin escaped.

'But then we come back to why you're bothering to ask…why is that, Draco?'

Draco huffed and rolled his eyes, pretending to be irritated instead of secretive. 'Can't a fellow just make conversation? You always suspect a conspiracy.'

With evident annoyance, he turned to Draco and told him, 'If I wasn't usually right, I wouldn't be alive, would I? You're hiding something, and I'll find out what it is eventually – hopefully _before_ the Dark Lord does.'

Snape seemed satisfied with the soapy torment he'd visited upon his reddened hands. 'Go home and prepare for tomorrow night. I'm sure your mother will want to hear the good news about her husband.'

_And the bad news about her sister, _Draco thought but didn't say.

As Draco left the complex alone, he plotted. If Weasley was going to remain alive for some time in the future, he had some chance of getting a word in with him. It would be a little risky, but he couldn't keep his leverage hidden in his underwear drawer forever. Besides, even sleeping near the locket was creepy, and the longer he kept it, the more likely Snape was to find out.

Draco needed to know why Potter wanted that locket.

* * *

The room was thick with talking, and Harry had rarely been so frustrated by mere words. Despite the arguments about whether to launch a rescue or not (obviously not, as they didn't even know where he was) and about whether he was alive or dead, everyone knew there was nothing to be done.

Mrs Weasley sat in quiet devastation, dried of emotion by heartbroken tears. Fred's eyes were two wide, lidless balls of glass that stared senselessly out the window at the light rainwater dripping down.

Eventually the Order members who had gathered to discuss the attack dispersed, and a desolate silence descended upon the old house. Grimmauld Place felt as full of darkness as it ever was.

Every remaining Weasley brother except for Percy was in the room with their mother – so were Hermione, Harry, and Fleur. The first to stand after many long, mournful moments was Fred, and immediately all the other brothers stood and leaned toward him.

'I'm going home,' said Fred dully.

'No, you're coming home with me,' said Bill immediately. 'You aren't going back to that shop tonight; it's a crime scene. The Aurors will be all over it, and…'

_And, _Harry finished himself, _we're not leaving you alone._

'Thanks, but I'm fine,' answered Fred.

Bill grabbed him by the arm; Fred looked up at his older brother with tired eyes. 'You're coming with me, or you can go with Charlie if you'd rather.'

'Has Percy been told?' Fred asked out of the blue, his voice shaking. 'He used to date Penelope Clearwater, you know. Even if he doesn't care about…about George…he might care about her.'

'You let us worry about Percy,' Bill told him firmly, his other hand falling on Fred's shoulder and closing on it tightly. 'You're going to stay with me and Fleur.'

'We will be 'appy to 'ave you,' added Fleur. 'We will not take "no" for an answer.'

Mrs Weasley looked over at Fleur with sincere gratitude, but her sadness did not leave her eyes for a moment.

Fred didn't put up a prolonged fight; he agreed to go with Bill and Fleur, and the three of them left at once. Once Mrs Weasley was settled in bed – though Harry couldn't imagine that she'd get any sleep at all – Charlie quietly slipped out too.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were left together. None of them knew what to say. Harry looked at the clock, and some of his stress fell away when he saw that it was well past midnight. The horrible Halloween was over.

* * *

When he woke, Harry peeked into Ron's curtains and found him dead asleep, contorted in his sheets. He quietly slipped out of the room and then out of the house; it seemed strange to him that the sun would still shine brightly after such a night.

He was more determined than ever to reenter the mindscape that day. Finding the next Horcrux was his only clear mission with no Death Eater to fight to avenge George's capture (_or death_).

The Janus Thickey ward was empty but for its patients – and they were used to Harry hanging around by now, so they were completely calm as he swept in and settled in by Mr Weasley's bed. Harry absentmindedly fiddled with some of the items in the mindscape room, not finding anything of note (which he expected, since he'd closely examined everything already).

'Maybe I should look for something less obvious,' he said to himself, filling the uncomfortable stillness – it was odd not having Hermione with him.

There was the snow globe again. He took one step toward it, and then he sighed. He'd tried everything possible with it, and Harry didn't want more frustration; he wanted answers. He took a symbolic step back.

Harry decided to try something new. He moved the furniture around, peeked under the carpet, examined the lamps, and glanced under, between, and within the tables and chairs.

'This is pointless,' Harry cried out loud, falling into the red armchair. 'There's _nothing_ here.'

He looked up and noticed, for the first time in a few visits, the odd sign on the wall – the one Hermione hadn't found in any of her books yet – and wondered what it could mean.

It was a circle with three petals inside. A jagged line split the top petal in two as if it were somehow broken.

Harry blinked furiously, realizing that he was fading out of consciousness. He'd stayed too long. Forcing himself to his feet, he told himself, 'I _have_ to go.'

He realized, as he clomped down the hall, that the visit had been a pointless failure. There was _nothing_ for him to do but wait for Voldemort to make his next move, and that wait was impossible. How many more people would die before Harry destroyed the Horcruxes?

So angered and disillusioned that he was blinking back tears, Harry wished with all his heart that Dumbledore was still there. _He_ would have known what to make of the mindscape.

Harry was struck by the realization that Ginny would be waking up that morning without knowing that her brother was gone. _I should write to her, _he thought.

But then he frowned and decided against it. He _could_ write to her about George, but Ginny's mother and brothers would too, and Harry was sure that she wouldn't want to read such painful news more times than she had to.

He spent the rest of the early morning trying to compose a letter that didn't mention George's abduction or his mother's grave being desecrated – but since that was all that filled his mind, the letter ended up something like:

_Hello Ginny,_

_How are you? We're still at Grimmauld Place. Lovely weather today…_

He crumpled it up and binned it.

* * *

As the morning wore on, Harry grew impatient for the arrival of the owl post, hoping to hear something from Ginny. The Order screened all their mail and delivered it once a week; today was the day, but he wondered morosely if they'd forgotten.

The waiting made it difficult to focus on the map of Europe unfurled across the floor on which Hermione and Ron were making marks wherever there was a collector who claimed to have the legitimate heart of Ravenclaw.

'This is a waste of time,' said Harry grumpily.

'No, it's not,' Hermione replied. 'If the locket was found, the heart could have been as well. It's a long shot, but the mindscape hasn't given us anything useful.It seems to me that the prospective heart in Turkey is our best chance at the moment. We can't possibly Apparate that far, so I think we ought to try Muggle transport, like an airplane.'

Ron's lip curled in distaste for the plan. 'We could fly on broomsticks instead.'

'To _Turkey?_' said Hermione, fixing him with an expression of disbelief. 'That's much too far.'

'I agree,' said Harry, smirking at the thought. 'Our arses would never be the same.'

Ron cringed at the thought. 'Portkey?' he tried.

Hermione rolled her eyes, annoyed with Ron's denseness. 'Yes, brilliant, let's get the Ministry to sanction a Portkey to Turkey. I'm _sure_ they won't ask why we want to go – and let's not forget that Harry is a fugitive!'

'Thanks, Hermione,' said Harry sarcastically. 'I really didn't want to forget _that_.'

'Sorry, but it's true. What's so bad about flying in an airplane? You don't have a problem with cars.'

'Airplanes are scary,' Ron protested with deadly seriousness. 'How can Muggles keep a hunk of junk like that suspended in the air without magic?'

'It's quite simple, really –' Hermione began, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door. Ron and Hermione hurriedly rolled up the map.

'Just a minute,' called Harry, moving to the door and placing his hand on the knob. When the map was put away, he opened the door.

It was Mrs Weasley. Her eyes were red from crying. The atmosphere in the room, which had been slowly getting back to normal, plummeted into the depths of despair at her presence.

'The post was cleared by the Order.' She produced a stack of letters. 'There's one for you from Ginny.'

'Thank you,' Harry answered sombrely. He took the letters, and she walked away without another word. He wished he could find the right words to say to make Mrs Weasley feel better…but he also knew that there weren't any.

He distributed the post between his friends even as he tried to tear open Ginny's letter with his other hand.

'Hermione, Hermione, Ron, Hermione…you're sure popular,' he noted.

Hermione frowned in dismay, and for a moment Harry was worried that something bad had slithered through the Order's security measures. 'They're all from Luna,' she told him. She tore the first one open and added, 'This one's from September.'

'That's funny; I guess the post's slow from Durmstrang,' said Ron. 'Hey, mine's from Luna too.'

'I've got a couple,' said Harry. 'I guess this explains why none of us have heard from her.'

But instead of reading Luna's letter, Harry read Ginny's first. 'She still plans to stay after Christmas,' said Harry dolefully. The thought of destroying all the Horcruxes before her return was a distant dream.

Hermione drew a sharp breath in alarm and cried, 'Harry, look at this!'

She passed the second page of Luna's letter from September. Harry was going to read it, but then he saw the symbol drawn at the bottom of the page.

It was a circle with three petals, the top one broken – the same as the symbol on the wall in the mindscape.

'What is it?' asked Ron.

Hermione explained the significance to him while Harry read the text:

_There's an awful lot of Dark arts books here at Durmstrang. They even have a class for it. I don't suppose you'd like it much – but I know you liked Ancient Runes as much as I did, and you would definitely be surprised to see how many of them we weren't taught at Hogwarts (and here's one, if you don't believe me). I'm not surprised at all because the Ministry tries to keep us from knowing things that we could use to overthrow the government!_

'Read the other letters Luna sent,' insisted Harry. 'She might have mentioned it again.'

'That's what I'm doing!' Hermione told him, grumpy about being ordered about. 'I'm just finishing up her second letter…nothing yet.'

They read the rest of Luna's letters, but to Harry's immense frustration, none of them mentioned the symbol again.

'We need to figure out what this is all about,' said Harry darkly. 'It might be the clue we've been looking for.'

'So we're not going to Turkey?' asked Ron, looking very pleased at the prospect of avoiding a plane trip.

'No…but we need to go to Durmstrang, and I have no idea how to get there.'

Ron's eyes bugged out. 'Are you _mad? _No one even knows where Durmstrang is! It's Unplottable – and it's full of Dark wizards!'

'That's not true!' Hermione objected with vigour. 'Viktor wasn't –'

'Hang Viktor already!' Ron grumbled loudly. Harry flinched at the mad look on Hermione's face, but Ron pressed on. 'Luna says it right here in print – they teach Dark magic! Dark wizards, the lot of them! And we can't get there anyway!'

'Oh yes we can!' shouted Hermione with determination. She scowled at Ron furiously. 'I'll ask _Viktor_ to help! We still write sometimes, you know!'

She stormed out of the room. 'Hermione!' Ron yelled.

But she didn't come back.

'Bloody Viktor bloody Krum,' muttered Ron. He jabbed at the map with a quill until he broke through the parchment.

Harry stayed quiet. He was, somewhat guiltily, glad that Hermione and Ron had fought. If Hermione hadn't been so distracted by defending Viktor Krum, she might have questioned Harry's wisdom, pouncing on such a small clue.

He knew, intellectually, that it was a long shot, but his heart was set on finding something _concrete_, not chasing around purported Ravenclaw's hearts for months when they were all likely fakes and they didn't even know if Ravenclaw's heart was a Horcrux at all. At least they were certain that Voldemort knew this symbol and considered it very important; at worst, Harry would learn something critical about his enemy.

On the other hand, judging by the look on Ron's face, if Viktor Krum ended up taking them to Durmstrang, it was going to be a _long_ trip…


	22. Boudica's Curse

**A/N: **Here is a _long_**, unbetaed **chapter. I'm serious about getting this story finished ASAP, and while I'd love to have the luxury of getting it beta read first, it's all going to be obsolete not too long from now. Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter - I'm really glad that people are still enjoying this story and forgive me for my lapse!_**  
**_

_**Chapter Twenty-Two: **__**Boudica's Curse**_

After the days-long struggle to reach Durmstrang, Harry was so used to being frigid despite his thick coat and layers of clothes – not to mention the dopey hat with flaps covering his ears – that he'd forgotten what it was like to feel his fingers and toes. Ron sneezed repeatedly behind him as they struggled through the final leg of their trek, and Hermione and Krum led the way ahead, pressing forward against the harsh, howling winds.

'Only another hour!' Krum shouted back.

Harry could barely hear him; he knew Ron couldn't so he shouted Krum's message backward to him. 'Only one hour!'

Ron didn't reply, nor did Harry expect him to; they had no energy to expend on unnecessary communication.

The hour passed by, and they arrived at a stubby bump in the snow. Krum and Hermione stopped; Harry and Ron caught up to them.

'Why've we stopped?' Ron demanded. His lips were blue, and his voice came out as a throaty whisper.

'We haff arrived,' announced Krum. He pawed at the side of the building like a bulky polar bear swiping at a fish; once enough snow had been removed, Harry could see that it was a structure, not a snowdrift.

Krum tapped his wand on the side of the building, and an old door rumbled into existence. They pried it free and tumbled inside. For several minutes they didn't move, too exhausted and relieved to be indoors.

But they were forced to move by the feeling of being trapped in an oven; it was far warmer inside, and Harry was sweating in his winter clothes. Once his nose started to thaw, he asked, 'Is this it?'

'Yes,' Krum checked his watch. 'The students are in class. Ve should see the Headmaster.'

They reached a wide stone staircase stretching several floors underground. Three floors down there was a single door at the bottom with a large metal knocker.

Krum felled the knocker upon the door three times and then took a step back.

The door opened, and at first Harry thought that no one was there. Then he looked down and saw an extremelyshort, rotund fellow waddling a few steps out of the office in plain black school robes. If it weren't for his harsh, weathered face, Harry would have thought he was a child.

He looked up at them, squinting meanly through his thin glasses. When he saw Harry's scar, his thick eyebrows twitched.

'Humph,' he grumbled, turning away from them and walking slowly back to his office. 'Enter.'

They all did so. The office was nowhere near the size of Dumbledore's; the four of them had to squeeze to fit inside it. The tiny man squeezed around his desk and sat in a chair topped with pillows.

'You here why?' he asked in a high, nasal voice.

Krum launched into a different language Harry couldn't understand. The man, who appeared to be Durmstrang's new Headmaster, nodded incrementally throughout Krum's speech; then he turned to Harry.

'I is Headmaster Lukmuk,' he said slowly. 'You is Harry Potter?'

'Er, yes,' Harry answered.

Headmaster Lukmuk turned back to Krum, and they spoke further. Then he turned back to Harry.

'You stay veek,' he told them sternly. 'Then you go.'

Harry was hoping he wouldn't even have to stay as long as that – but on the other hand, he dreaded having to go outside again. 'Thank you.'

'You vill haff rooms,' said Krum. His expression had become more dour than usual during his conversation with the Headmaster, Harry realized. 'I vill take you to them.'

The room Harry was to share with Ron had two bunk beds. The two bottom ones looked occupied – he supposed Durmstrang must be strapped for space since so many extra students from Hogwarts were there. Harry and Ron had brought little more than the clothes on their backs; Hermione was the only one who had thought to pack a toothbrush.

'Let's look around,' said Harry to Ron. He was curious about Durmstrang; it was very different from Hogwarts or Beauxbatons…

Ron pouted grumpily. 'I'd rather wait for Hermione. I'm not leaving her alone with _him_.'

Harry turned his back and rolled his eyes. He'd put up with Ron's jealousy for the entire week, and it was grating on his temper. 'Fine, I'll go myself.'

'You can't do that!' Ron protested in panic. 'Dark wizards, remember? You Harry Potter, them evil?'

'You sound like the Headmaster,' Harry sniped. When he thought about it, he decided that being on his own for a while would be a relief. 'I'll be fine. I can handle myself. You wait here for Hermione.'

Before Ron could change his mind, Harry walked out.

There was absolutely no one in the halls. Durmstrang was much smaller than Hogwarts, and it only took Harry about half an hour to explore it all. Only a few paintings lined the walls, and Harry couldn't understand a single word any of them said. The halls were lit by dim torches; it was a gloomy place.

_They could at least add some magical windows like those at the Ministry, _Harry thought; with no windows, Durmstrang felt enclosed and dingy.

A deep, slow ring pierced the silence, and at once each door in the halls opened outward. Students walked out of the classrooms in orderly lines; their feet clomped against the stone floor, and not a word escaped their lips.

Harry found himself being forced to move downstream, trying to avoid making eye contact. Still, he couldn't help but notice that the looks he received were composed less of the curiosity and disdain from Beauxbatons and more of suspicion – perhaps even hatred.

He wondered where everyone was going, but it wasn't long until he found himself in the lunchroom. Harry checked his watch and realized that it was lunchtime.

Deciding to stick around to see if Luna showed up, Harry got into line with the others to get a meal. His stomach chose that moment to rumble in agreement. But as he sat down at one of the rickety wooden tables lining the walls, he stared at his food and decided that he didn't have the slightest idea what any of it was.

'Hello!' said a cheerful voice. Luna Lovegood slid into the seat across from him; she'd found Harry before he found her. 'It's very nice to see you – even better than getting a letter!'

Harry guiltily looked at his food, realizing that she'd probably hoped to hear from them before now. 'Ron and Hermione are here too.'

She dug enthusiastically into her food. 'It's very good,' she told him, sensing his reluctance. 'It isn't as boring as English food.'

Harry wouldn't have minded some "boring" food, but he tried to be a good sport and gamely swallowed a mouthful. It wasn't nearly as bad as he'd thought it would be, and after another mouthful, he decided that it was delicious.

Between scoops of food, Harry told her, 'We came to ask you about something we saw in your letters.'

Luna's face lit up with joy, and she stood up excitedly. 'That's wonderful! I'll get my climbing gear!'

The gears in Harry's brain froze for a moment, wondering how climbing gear had wiggled into the conversation. It seemed random even by Luna's standards. 'Why climbing gear?'

She frowned pensively and took her seat again. 'Didn't you come to see the Three-Snouted Grouyak? I'm sure it's hiding up in the mountains a few miles from here, but it's too far and too dangerous to go alone, and no one else seems interested for some reason.'

'Er, no,' said Harry, suppressing a shudder at the thought of climbing a mountain in such weather. 'I was hoping to ask about a symbol – a rune or something – you drew in a letter you wrote to Hermione. Do you remember?'

She hummed thoughtfully and gazed up at the ceiling. 'I remember trying to explain how many runes we weren't taught in school because they weren't considered appropriate at Hogwarts. The Ministry –'

'Right, exactly, and there was one you drew that we're interested in,' said Harry, stopping her from going on about the supposed Ministry conspiracy. 'We didn't have time to send a letter. It's very important.'

'I see,' said Luna softly. She sighed and looked very disappointed, and Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for her. 'I don't remember exactly which book it was from. I've been reading all sorts of fascinating things – there's a wonderful charm that drops an English translation right across the page –'

'Hi,' whispered Hermione, smiling as she took the chair next to Harry. Ron took the seat next to Luna.

'This place is awfully quiet, isn't it?' said Ron, his eyes darting back and forth suspiciously. 'It feels like I'm in a library.'

'Or an ambush,' muttered Hermione.

'I think it's wonderful,' Luna declared, eyeing Hermione, who clamped her mouth shut.

'I was just telling Luna about the rune. We should go to the library to look it up. Try the food, Ron,' he added, watching Ron wrinkle his nose at his plate. 'It's brilliant.'

Ron looked at it sceptically, but he vacuumed it up once he took a taste. Harry and Luna shared a knowing smile; things at Durmstrang _were_ different, but they weren't as bad as they seemed.

* * *

'This library is incredible,' said Hermione breathlessly as she flipped through four archaic texts at once. 'I've never seen any of these books at Hogwarts.'

'They're banned,' Luna told her simply as she scanned a book on runes with a title Harry couldn't read.

Ron snorted as he lifted his palms from the pages of a thick tomb. 'Gee, I can't imagine why,' he said wryly. He held up his hands, and they were covered in what looked like small bites taken out of his flesh.

'Ron!' said Hermione in alarm. They were glared at for being loud, but Hermione paid no attention as she cast a spell to fix Ron's hands.

'You have to wear gloves with that one,' Luna whispered.

'And with that one too.' She pointed at one of the books in Hermione's stack. 'Page seventy-six causes boils.'

'Now she tells us,' muttered Ron as Luna passed around pairs of plastic gloves that she kept in her pockets.

They spent an hour looking through the books. Harry had to admit that they were interesting – but he also could understand why they weren't even available in the restricted section at Hogwarts.

A lot of the runes referred to unpleasant ancient spells that had no good use at all. Some ripped out intestines, some cut off tongues, and others could be used to bind Muggles into mindless slavery.

'I wish I'd seen this book earlier,' said Hermione wistfully. 'I could have translated the runes you-know-where.'

'_I_ don't know where,' said Luna in confusion, but Harry knew what Hermione was referring to – the Horcrux trap in the sewers.

Then Harry flipped to the final chapter of his book. 'I've got it,' he announced. The others crowded around, and together they read the text:

_Though many runes have Dark natures, none can surpass the evil represented by the one shown above. If your eyes have fallen upon it without any ill effects, you may be assured that none other can cause harm without the spell to cast alongside it. Learn of runes with respect and fear in your heart, for seeing one such as this is a sign of the Darkest magick of the soul: Boudica's Curse, known also as the Horcrux._

'Oh yes, I remember reading that,' said Luna offhandedly. 'I don't think I've read anything that explains what Boudica's Curse actually does, though.'

'It's too dark even by Durmstrang standards,' muttered Harry.

'What does Boudica have to do with it?' wondered Hermione aloud. Harry wasn't even sure who Boudica was.

'Yeah, I'm wondering that too,' said Ron, making Harry feel even more left behind.

'Wait, who _is_ Boudica, anyway?' he asked.

'Don't you remember her from History of Magic?' asked Luna.

'Um…' he stalled, trying to recall her.

Hermione came to his rescue. 'Boudica was an ancient witch who lived in the first century. She placed a curse on the Romans that prevented them from ever settling their hold on British soil. That's all I know about her, though – I haven't the slightest idea what she has to do with Horcruxes.'

Dubiously, Harry said, 'Maybe we should try to find out more about her. It couldn't hurt, but on the other hand, I'm not sure how it could help.' Even if she had something to do with Horcruxes in general, it wouldn't help them find out more about Voldemort's. Harry was regretting their trip; it was turning out to be a waste of time.

'Why are Horcruxes important?' asked Luna.

'They're just something we're curious about,' Hermione answered vaguely.

Luna looked unhappy with her response, but she didn't press further. 'I have class,' she told them, picking up her bag. 'Good luck.'

Hermione got up as soon as Luna was gone. 'I'm going to find the History of Magic texts,' she whispered to them.

She brought back two armfuls of books – and then two more armfuls. They proceeded to scan the indexes for any mention of Boudica. But they all said the same thing about her accomplishments, and none referred to Horcruxes.

'Oh, _this_ is interesting!' said Hermione, lips curved into a mischievous smile. 'It says here that Boudica was buried right under where platform ten at King's Cross station is now.'

'Really?' said Ron, sounding excited. 'Brilliant! We can go down there, look around –'

Hermione's soft laughter cut him off. 'What's so funny?' asked Ron.

'It's an old Muggle tale,' explained Hermione, shaking her head and continuing to smile. 'It's not _true_. I can't believe any respectable wizarding text would even mention such nonsense – but then these books aren't the apex of respectability.'

'Maybe the story is really true,' suggested Harry. He didn't understand why Hermione was dismissing it out of hand; it didn't sound _that _farfetched…

'Even if it was, we can't dig up platform ten to find out,' said Hermione, losing patience. 'It's a silly old legend.'

'So is Merlin to the Muggles,' Harry pointed out. Hermione shot him a dirty look and seemed to be searching for a retort, but she didn't find one.

With a new rush of interest, he threw himself into the books with fervour. One text he grabbed was the most yellowed, falling-apart book in the stack. After mechanically scanning every reference to Boudica in the index, he found what he was looking for.

'Here's something else,' he said ominously.

'_Queen Boadicca of the Iceni, highest witch of the Circle, Supreme Warwitch of Britannia, was defeated by the numbers and tactics of the Romans, though they possessed no magick in their blood. Boadicca was driven by hatred to revenge herself by binding her soul to the land that bore her with a Curse too terrible to speak of.'_

'Legend,' insisted Hermione dismissively. 'Think about it rationally: if that's true – if she made a Horcrux – she would still be around.'

'Unless the Horcrux was destroyed – or her mortal body was killed,' Harry considered.

'Er, this is all interesting, Harry, but what's it got to do with Voldemort?' asked Ron.

He wasn't ready to answer Ron's question yet; it was important enough for the symbol to be prominent in Voldemort's mind, but whether it would lead to a Horcrux was open to question.

'It goes on,' he told them.

'_None without magick can cross the soil where her body lies._ That's got to mean she's buried between platform ten and platform nine and three quarters – the barrier between the Muggle world and the magical one. Wait, they've got something else –'

'Harry,' Hermione said crossly, 'I really don't see the point –'

'_Upon her defeat, she is rumoured to have addressed her remaining forces, urging all who would join her in defending her lands against thos__e without magick to seek her out and join her in her Curse.'_

Hermione frowned as she considered the implications. 'You mean she offered to show others how to make a Horcrux?'

'Slughorn never told Voldemort _how_ to make a Horcrux,' said Harry, grinning. 'He had to find out from somewhere – and since we know he made his first Horcrux before he even left Hogwarts –'

'It was probably somewhere close,' Hermione interrupted. 'Of course – and obviously he must have passed through King's Cross to get to Hogwarts. He had ample opportunity to seek her out there.'

Harry was startled by a voice behind him. 'What are _you _doing here?'

He looked up at a sneering Blaise Zabini. 'Come to get a _real _education, have you, Potter?'

Harry rolled his eyes. He'd nearly forgotten that Durmstrang was swarming with Slytherins. 'Say, how's your pal Malfoy doing?' he asked with a cold smirk.

Zabini regarded him with disdain. 'Malfoy was never my "pal", and you know he's not here.'

'I'm surprised you're not with Malfoy,' remarked Ron, balling his fists. 'Don't all you Slytherins have somewhere else to be – licking You-Know-Who's boots?'

At the mention of Voldemort, Zabini's expression changed entirely. He pulled out a chair and sat down beside Harry, his expression grim. 'I can't stay long,' he told him in a low whisper, looking around the library at the people who were already watching him. 'Look angry – like I'm threatening you or something.'

'What –'

'Just do it!' Zabini snapped. Harry put on a grimace that wasn't entirely fake.

'Information gets around at Durmstrang – students have family who work for You-Know-Who, and Weasley is right that some Slytherins are sympathisers.'

'Yeah, so what?' Harry challenged. 'This isn't news to me.'

Visibly frustrated, or maybe acting for the benefit of onlookers, Zabini continued, 'You don't understand how dangerous it is here for non-supporters! Your friend Lovegood _has _to leave now that she's been seen with you! They already got her on her way out!'

'_What?!_' said Harry, not bothering to keep his voice down. The gazes of the spectators grew more intense, and Harry heard Hermione cast _Mufflatio_ to prevent them from overhearing.

'She's fine,' insisted Zabini. 'They interrogated her, that's all – but she can't stay. You-Know-Who will be told that you're here – and what you're here for, if they got it out of Lovegood – as soon as the next falcon takes off.'

'I'm not scared of Voldemort,' Harry insisted.

Zabini shuddered. 'Maybe _you're _not, but if he knows you're abroad –'

'There will be more attacks,' finished Harry. 'Right. Thanks. I guess we should head back, then.'

'Don't be so cocky, Potter!' Zabini fumed, kicking over his chair as he stood. Harry was surprised, but then he realized it was part of the act.

'What was that about?' muttered Ron. 'I couldn't hear what he said.'

'He warned us,' Harry told him. 'We need to leave – now – and we've got to convince Luna to come along before she's killed.'

* * *

Draco felt like he was slinking, but he tried not to look like it. There was no reason why he couldn't be in the dungeon. For all anyone knew, he was bored and looking for someone to torture.

He walked past several makeshift cells. They weren't as roomy as those he'd seen in Azkaban, but at least the ground was probably softer than solid rock. He looked away as he passed by Aunt Bella; she was singing to herself weakly, and Draco strained to hear her despite himself. But it was gibberish…her mind was gone.

He saw George Weasley sitting slumped against the wall in the next cell over. Draco's nervousness hit new, nearly paralyzing levels, but he managed to reach out a shaking hand and tap his wand against the bars.

The door creaked loudly open, and he felt like everyone was watching him, though even Weasley didn't bother looking up.

He stepped in. Weasley finally raised his head. 'Moldyshorts told you blokes to shove off,' he rasped.

It took Draco a few moments to figure out who Weasley was referring to. 'I have questions,' he said, trying to sound intimidating.

Weasley smirked. 'I think your master tapped me out.'

'Why did Potter want the locket at the Smith's?' Draco asked. He didn't want to stay long. There was no telling when Voldemort would call Weasley back for another session, and if _he_ found out…

'I don't know, and I wouldn't tell you if I did,' Weasley replied, 'so sod off.'

Draco hadn't expected him to be reasonable. Without another word, he utilized the small amount of Legilimency he had learned to look into Weasley's already weakened mind.

After a minute, he retracted. Weasley knew nothing Draco didn't know already. Draco had snuck into the back of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to steal more Darkness Powder in his new Animagus form when he'd first heard of Potter's search for the locket – apparently Potter hadn't shared anything more.

'Damn,' he muttered.

'Told you so,' said Weasley with a short laugh.

Draco smiled coldly behind his mask. This wasn't a total loss. He could make sure that Weasley couldn't possibly tell Voldemort of Draco's own involvement in the locket incident.

'_Obliviate!_'

* * *

Luna stomped crossly across the threshold of Grimmauld Place. Even after days of travel, she was still angry with him; they had only convinced her to leave Durmstrang by saying that they were going out to the mountains to help her search for the Three-Something Whatever.

By the time she'd realized that they were heading in the wrong direction, it was too late to turn back. Even after explaining that Durmstrang wasn't safe for her anymore, Luna had been very angry about being tricked.

'There's bad news,' Bill announced as Harry walked through the door. 'Come down to the kitchen.'

They walked in during an Order meeting; Remus nodded hello. Fleur and Moody were deeply involved in staring at a map; groups of red dots were moving across it. Luna joined in on the meeting, tossing aside her anger as she listened to the latest news.

'The incarcerated Death Eaters were broken out of Azkaban less than a week ago,' Remus told them, clearly tired and worried. 'The last couple of days have been rife with attacks. We can't be everywhere at once, so we're trying to prioritize. We're mostly backing up the Ministry's hold on Hogsmeade – the Death Eaters and Dementors are getting bolder there.'

'Is there any way we can help?' Harry asked, eager to help out the Order – eager to do something _important_ after days wasted travelling across Europe.

'Yes; Ron, Hermione, you two would be useful in Hogsmeade. Tonks is in command there.'

'What about me?' asked Harry.

'Stay here and help with tactics,' grunted Moody. 'You'll need the experience.'

Harry realized he was getting the run-around. 'I'd rather go to Hogsmeade,' he told them, angry that he was being coddled.

'You can't, Harry – you'll be arrested,' Hermione put in. Remus and Bill looked relieved that she'd been the one to say it.

'Oh – right.' That was becoming a serious issue, and Harry realized that he'd have to settle things with Scrimgeour sooner or later. 'But if I just put in an appearance –'

'We'll consider it if more Death Eaters move to Hogsmeade,' Remus offered.

'I'll go with them,' said Bill, shooting Harry a commiserating look.

'I'm going too,' said Luna, as if such a statement was no big deal.

Bill shook his head. 'You're still underage, aren't you?'

Luna smiled for the first time in days. 'No, my birthday was yesterday.'

'Really?' said Ron incredulously. 'Er, happy birthday.'

'It wasn't really,' Luna told him, looking at Harry pointedly. He looked away, abashed.

'In that case, we can use all the help we can get,' declared Remus with a conspiratorial smile at Luna, who beamed back. 'We'll have the official induction ceremony later – welcome to the Order, Miss Lovegood.'

'Thank you, Professor,' she replied.

'Remus,' he insisted. 'We're all equals here.'

'Remus,' Luna repeated with the slightly stunned look of someone who was being treated like an adult for the first time.

Harry wondered just how annoyed Ginny would be if she ever found out that Luna had been allowed to fight for the Order before she was…

* * *

The Death Eater activity abated within hours – hours during which Harry learned that making deployment decisions was no laughing matter. Remus was right; there were too many of the enemy and not enough of the Order to go around, and hard choices needed to be made.

Harry suspected that the rapid, very unexpected decline in hostilities was due to his return. For whatever reason, Voldemort didn't want to face him, and he didn't want any of his Death Eaters to face Harry either. He wasn't sure how Voldemort knew he'd returned; maybe he'd guessed the time it would take for him to get back from Durmstrang, or maybe someone had noticed Ron and Hermione and realized that Harry must have arrived in Britain with them.

He was relieved when his friends returned unharmed, though as they discussed the gritty battle with Neville and McLaggen, sharing glances of understanding about events Harry hadn't witnessed, he was more determined than ever not to be left out next time.

But there was something that took priority over working things out with Scrimgeour so he could show his face in the magical world again: the Horcruxes.

'If we're assuming Voldemort somehow found out about Horcruxes from Boudica, where would he have found her?' wondered Hermione.

'The best place to look is platform ten – or nine and three quarters,' answered Ron. 'That's where the legends say she's buried, right? It's the only address we've got for her.'

'So let's knock,' said Harry with a little smirk.

Disguised as Muggles, Harry, Ron, and Hermione Apparated near to King's Cross and approached the barrier between platform ten and platform nine and three quarters. 'So…let's say she's here,' argued Hermione, crossing her arms in annoyance. 'We _still_ don't know how to get to her. We can't dig up the platform without attracting quite a lot of attention.'

'Voldemort didn't dig it up, did he?' said Harry, staring through the barrier.

Hermione tapped her chin and thought out loud, 'Boudica wants to be found by anyone who wants to make a Horcrux – or so we're assuming – so she would have made it easy. Voldemort would have been younger than we are if he really did find her, so it can't have required _very _advanced magic. There has to be some sort of gateway to where she's buried that's just sitting there, waiting for us to go through it.'

Ron shrugged and indicated the barrier. 'There's a gateway right there. But it leads to platform nine and three quarters.'

'I think you've hit on it, Ron,' said Harry slowly, considering. 'Maybe there's a way for the barrier to lead somewhere else.'

Hermione smiled a little. 'It's not a bad idea. There would have to be a spell that alters the gateway – or maybe it can read thoughts.'

'If it's a spell, we don't know it,' said Harry, frowning in worry. He wanted to find that Horcrux _today_ – then all that would stand in the way of stopping Voldemort was Nagini, the missing locket, and Voldemort himself

'Let's try thoughts,' suggested Ron gamely. 'If that doesn't work, we'll hit the books.'

Harry and Ron looked at each other with dread as Hermione stared at the barrier; neither of them was keen on attempting to find some obscure book with some obscure spell.

'We'll need to make sure we're all thinking the same thing,' warned Hermione. 'Otherwise one or more of us will get left behind.'

'Right,' agreed Ron. 'What should we try first?'

'How about thinking "Horcruxes"?' answered Harry with dry humour.

'Should we think the word "Horcruxes", or should we think about Horcruxes in general?' asked Hermione anxiously.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'Don't be so picky.' The he squeezed his eyes shut and made a run for the barrier. Hermione, nervously gaping at his back, didn't move until Ron had already disappeared.

Hermione and Harry went through the barrier together. To Harry's chagrin, they found themselves on platform nine and three quarters. Ron was leaning against a beam as he waited for them.

Ron pointed out the obvious. 'Well, that didn't work, did it?'

Next they tried to think of Boudica herself – Harry thought of the picture he'd seen of her in the book, strong and proud as she held a sword in one hand and a wand in the other – but they only ended up back on platform ten.

'I'm starving,' said Ron, clutching his stomach. 'How about we try thinking of lunch?'

Hermione snorted. 'Seriously, though, how about the rune – the one that's supposed to symbolize Horcruxes.'

'Hey, yeah!' Harry agreed enthusiastically, wondering why they hadn't thought of that first.

Getting excited herself, Hermione added, 'You know, the mind often creates symbols of its own, and since the rune was on the wall in the mindscape, the wall could represent a barrier to which the rune is the key!'

Harry shrugged; he couldn't be bothered with the philosophy behind it. 'Let's just try it.'

Nothing. 'We're missing something,' Hermione decided. 'It isn't activated by thought alone.'

Harry agreed, and the three took a seat next to the empty platform. He tried to think of a good idea, but his mind wouldn't cooperate; he kept sneaking glances at Hermione, hoping to see her eyes light up with discovery.

'I'm stumped,' she said, sensing his attention. Harry sighed.

Hermione looked sad, as though she had let him down, and Harry was going to reassure her that she couldn't be expected to have every solution when she blurted out, 'We need to think about what Voldemort would have done. He figured this out somehow. What would trigger Boudica to wake up?'

'Muggles,' Ron stated baldly. 'She doesn't like them, remember? There was something in the books about her stopping Muggles from passing over her.'

Harry grinned at Ron; he felt sure that they were getting closer. 'Maybe if a Muggle tried to pass through the barrier to platform nine and three quarters…'

Hermione was grimly nodding her head. 'I think you might be right, but we can't get a Muggle to do that. Well, we _could_, but it wouldn't be morally right. It could be dangerous.'

Harry realized what she must mean. 'You mean the Muggle might be a sacrifice?'

'It's possible.'

They continued to ponder. 'There's a potion,' Hermione began slowly, her tone indicating that she didn't like what she was about to say. 'It dampens magical ability – it's hardly ever used anymore, but in the past it was an integral part of assassinations in the magical world. I've only read about it, but...'

'If we take it, do you think we could pass as Muggles?'

'I'm hoping so – but only one of us would take it.'

'How d'you figure?' asked Ron.

'Think about what Voldemort would have done. _He _wouldn't have minded a Muggle sacrifice – but I doubt he'd have dampened his own abilities. I bet that if one of us takes the potion, the others can pass through as well.'

Harry smiled in agreement. 'We'll need to find the recipe, though.'

'Diagon Alley's closed,' Ron protested. 'Where will we get the book?'

Hermione stood up and withdrew her wand. 'It probably wouldn't be available there anyway. I doubt that the potion is legal. We'll have to resort to Knockturn Alley – _you're_ not going, Harry,' she added, glaring at his wand as he prepared to Apparate.

'Yes I am,' he insisted, deliberately raising his wand higher.

'It won't take three people to find the recipe,' she argued, 'and you would be a liability. Ron and I can blend in if we take some time to disguise ourselves, but that scar of yours is very difficult to conceal.'

Harry hated the thought of being a liability anywhere, but a traitorously honest part of him had to admit that Hermione was right.

* * *

Hermione and Ron returned about two hours later with a thin potions book and a couple paper bags of ingredients. 'I can brew it,' Hermione announced. 'We're very lucky – the potion needs to be brewed on either the summer or winter solstice, and the winter solstice is only a few days away.'

On the morning of the winter solstice, they returned to King's Cross. Hermione held a glass that was a quarter full with the potion, which looked like a strawberry milkshake.

'Since I'm a Muggleborn, I think this is most likely to work with me. I should be the one to drink it.'

Ron huffed. 'That's ridiculous. Blood doesn't matter. You're ten times the witch anyone else is.'

Hermione smiled serenely at the compliment, but she pressed her argument nonetheless. 'There are spells that stop anyone but a pureblood from crossing the threshold of a home. That means there must be something detectable about it. Besides, _you_ put yourself in danger last time, and I'm sure we can both agree that Harry had better not take it.'

Before another word was spoken, Hermione surprised them all by taking a mouthful of the potion. 'It tastes pleasant,' she announced.

There was no going back after that. Hermione handed Ron the empty glass and held up her wand. '_Wingardium Leviosa!_' she cast, her wand pointed at the glass.

It didn't even twitch. She lowered her hand, and Harry saw fear in her eyes. 'It's not permanent,' he said.

'Of course not,' she agreed, but she still sounded shaken. 'Well, let's go.'

Each of the boys grabbed one of Hermione's hands. In unison, all three ran toward the barrier; Harry could _feel_ that it had worked by the mustiness of the air even before he opened his eyes.

Hermione cheered and hugged Harry. Ron beamed. It was then that the disconcerting feeling started to set in, and the euphoria of their success faded away.

They were in a cavern with a domed top that reminded Harry of half an orange. It was made of semi-hard clay; Harry pressed his hand into the wall, and it sank in a little.

There was an inescapable impression of lonely age about the place.

'There aren't any doors,' noted Hermione. Harry nodded in agreement. There wasn't _anything_ in the room at all but for a permeating impression of ancient history.

'Well…' Ron trailed off. Harry knew what he meant; there wasn't anything for them to investigate here.

Hermione took in a sharp, hissing breath through her teeth. 'Mmm,' she hummed.

'You all right?' Harry asked her.

A quivering smile crept over Hermione's face. Harry watched her with concern. 'Hermione?'

She turned toward him. Right away, there was something – an old, foreign look in her eyes – that made Harry see that Hermione was _not_ herself. 'What's wrong?'

Speaking carefully, like someone unfamiliar with English words, she said, 'Nothing is wrong at all.'

But Harry was sure that there was, and Ron seemed to pick up on it too. 'You sure?' Ron asked sceptically.

She backed away from them, and Harry's hand closed instinctively around his wand. Hermione's eyes alighted on his wand. 'Yes,' she whispered fervently, her pupils shining with an unholy light.

'Who are you?' Harry demanded. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Ron and raised his wand to defend himself. Ron, on the other hands, gripped his wand in his pocket, but was reluctant to point it at Hermione.

'I am the one you seek,' she said, holding her chin imperiously high. 'I am the one whose symbol you wear upon your minds.'

Her face fell into a sad expression. '…I am she who suffers the curse of an eternity between the realms of life and death. I am Boudica.'


	23. The Second Front

**A/N: **A somewhat shorter chapter, but _very _pivotal! Enjoy!_**  
**_

_**Chapter Twenty-Three: **__**The Second Front**_

'Release Hermione,' Harry insisted. She was possessed, and Harry's main concern was getting the spirit to let her go as quickly as possible – thoughts of Horcruxes vanished from his mind.

Hermione's – Boudica's – voice was changing. It was much deeper and more echoing when she said, 'I will not be within her long.' Boudica glared with bright, reddish eyes. 'She possesses our gift. I am again denied my sacrifice. I will not strike against a fellow witch.'

Harry thought for a moment that she would fight them over being cheated, but she did not.

'What do you want?' asked a furious Ron.

'You have sought _me_,' Boudica reminded him bitterly. 'You have sought me because you are fool enough to wish to take upon my curse. I wait forever as time weathers me so that I might serve as warning.'

Harry frowned, not understanding. 'Warning? What do you mean?'

Hermione raised her hands in a movement foreign to her. A blue-white ball of light erupted between them, partially obscuring her torso, and within the ball blossomed three petals; a crimson red one on the bottom left, a royal blue one on the bottom right, and, sitting at the top between them, a brilliant emerald green one.

'Life,' she said coldly. 'Heart –' her finger indicated the red petal '– mind –' it followed the circle to the red petal '– and soul.' Her finger fell upon the topmost petal. As she spoke, a golden-yellow cord tangled around the three petals like a vine. 'All are bound within the body until the end of life.'

Abruptly, part of the green petal was ripped off, and all the petals dimmed. The golden cord withered and blackened like a decaying plant. Boudica held the ripped portion of the green petal in her hand; it glowed brightly. 'The bind to life dies, yet it cannot be severed so long as part of the soul is trapped in the world of the living. It is an eternal death that runs its course to the slow drumbeat by which mountains crumble.'

'Yeah, we know all that stuff,' said Ron.

'YOU DO NOT!' she howled. The runic symbol disappeared, and the cavern rumbled with the strength of her anger. 'For my curse, I set my soul within a rock and tossed it into the water so that no enemy could find it. Still it lies within some ocean of the world, tumbling around in the depths as I die an eternal death. I can have no release from this part-life! Is this what you wish for yourselves? Nay, immortality this is not – 'tis eternal damnation!'

Harry was struck by the certainty in her voice. Had Voldemort been given this warning? 'We're not here to learn how to make a Horcrux! We need to know about Voldemort! Did he pass through here?'

Boudica calmed. Hermione's arms fell to her sides. 'You do not wish for the curse?'

'No,' replied Harry again. 'We just need to know about Voldemort. He would have stopped by here decades ago. Young, handsome, dark hair…?'

Harry could tell from the glint of anger in her eyes that Boudica knew him. 'Yes, he sought me. Tall and proud was he. My words could not reach him – he wished only to keep forever out of the arms of death, too young to understand the release it brings. He demanded the knowledge, and bound by my long-ago promise, I instructed him on how to curse himself. Poor, foolish child.'

For an instant, she seemed to be struck by guilt.

'We're trying to find his Horcruxes,' Harry told her softly. He pitied her for the incorporeal torment she had suffered. He couldn't comprehend how Tom Riddle could have stood right where Harry was standing and heard what Harry was hearing and _still_ insist on creating a Horcrux despite this disturbing warning.

'You seek the heart,' she said with certainty.

'Yes – Ravenclaw's heart. Do you know where it is?'

'It is here,' she said. She gestured behind her, and a door appeared. Light filtered in through the cracks. 'The heart is protected by most potent Dark arts – and the ones who came before.'

Harry frowned. 'Before?'

Boudica moved Hermione's lips into a wicked, sadistically satisfied smile. 'He is too clever to be taken by surprise. His servants wait for you behind the door.'

'How many?'

Before she answered, her back extended, and she took in one last, choking breath before Hermione's body fell to the ground, an inanimate doll.

'Hermione!' Ron shook her.

Hermione opened her eyes groggily. 'Ron?' she mumbled.

'I'm here.' He helped her to her feet and didn't let go. 'Are you okay?'

She nodded. 'I…I think so…'

'There are Death Eaters over there,' stated Harry bluntly. 'What should we do?'

'Isn't it obvious?' asked Hermione, already back on form. She cast a silent spell and smiled with satisfaction; the potion's effects had worn off.

It wasn't obvious to Harry, but once Hermione explained, he agreed that she was absolutely right.

* * *

Harry was surprised by what was behind the door.

He, Ron, and Hermione stood atop a black stone platform that stretched far off into the distance. The platform was walled by massive elephant horns curving inward like great white claws. Harry inhaled in fear as he saw that the heels of his shoes were just touching the edge.

The ground stretched down farther than he could see; they were closer to the clouds than the earth.

'The air is very damp,' noticed Hermione. Harry agreed – and it smelled like thick, warm rain.

The only thing they could do was follow the obvious path along the platform. They walked a long way, and Harry noticed details that made it all too clear that they weren't the first ones to arrive. The badly burnt corpses of two men wearing Death Eater's masks were strewn carelessly along their path. Further along, dismembered Inferi were piled across a wide strip, and they had to climb over the disgusting creatures to keep going.

The platform ended in a half-circular dais. A fist-sized, palpitating object levitated within a column of light – Harry was sure it was the heart.

There were not so many Death Eaters as Harry had imagined – only six, by his count. The one at the lead of the group, standing with his hands hovering above the contorting heart, wore no mask.

It was Severus Snape. Harry couldn't help but smile; it was perfect.

'Harry Potter,' he greeted brusquely. 'You shouldn't have come – but then you've always stuck your nose where it doesn't belong.'

Snape took a step back and casually drew his wand. At the same moment, half a dozen members of the Order dropped their Disillusionment Charms. Snape's cocky look vanished, and the other Death Eaters visibly quailed; Harry, disgusted, realized that they were not used to being outnumbered.

He smiled triumphantly at the knowledge that he'd pulled on over on Snape.

'Very unwise, Potter,' Snape said. He sounded oddly disturbed rather than fearful. In an urgent tone, he asked, 'Do you really think _this_ is the best place to position the Order's resources?'

Harry let out a brittle laugh. 'Capturing the likes of _you_ will be worth the effort!'

'Oh?' Snape smirked, and wryly remarked, 'And where will you put me – Azkaban?'

He didn't get the chance to reply; one of the Death Eaters got antsy and shot off a spell. Harry easily blocked it.

The battle had begun.

But what Harry took notice of, without any time to analyse it, was the pure, startling hatred upon Ron's face as he looked at Snape and shot directly toward him.

* * *

'I'm not going back,' Lavender Brown stated with tall pride. She crossed her arms regally, daring the others to protest. Ginny wryly thought that it wasn't quite as intimidating to take a stand while they were being herded like cattle, two by two, toward the Portkey set up to take them home for the holidays.

But since Lavender's sentiments corresponded exactly with her own, Ginny didn't protest – with a lopsided smile, she said, 'Nor am I,' and she mimicked Lavender's stern stance.

'Really?' said Dean Thomas from directly ahead of Ginny. He turned and fixed her with a wide-eyed stare of alarm. 'Lavender's been going on about running away from home if they won't let her stay in Britain, but I thought you –'

'You're both right,' declared Margaret Griswold, a Hufflepuff in Ginny's year who Dean was dating. 'My mum will go stark raving mad once I tell her, though.'

'You're both welcome to join the Order,' said Ginny. She bashfully amended, 'Well, I suppose I can't say that officially, but we're – they're – always looking for new members, so if you want to join –'

Margaret sighed and shook her head. 'I'm not of age yet – and neither are you, for that matter.'

'_Ginny_ doesn't have to worry about that,' said Lavender with a meaningful grin. '_She's _very good "friends" with Harry, after all. The rules don't apply to her, I bet.'

Ginny flushed. 'It's not like _that_,' she said for what seemed like the millionth time since Harry had come all the way to Beauxbatons to see her.

'I think I might stay in Britain too,' muttered Dean with a considering expression. 'I'm of age, and my wand arm is as steady as anyone's. With all the Slytherins and other monsters joining up, we can't expect our side to win unless we all dive into trouble together.'

Ginny nodded seriously in agreement; the four all took another few steps forward in line. 'That's exactly right. We're all responsible for the outcome of the war, whether we're of age or not. We all have to do our part. That's why I'm staying.'

'Next!' a voice announced, and Ginny was startled to realize that it was their turn.

She, Dean, Lavender, and Margaret stood before a small antique table that was serving as the Portkey to Britain. Ginny rolled her eyes at it – a waste bin would have done just as well.

_I won't have to put up with this snootiness ever again, _she thought with satisfaction as her hand touched the table.

A small hand fell on the table, and it was suffused with an orange glow. Ginny stared at the boy – a tiny first year – and he looked up at her as if he was doing nothing wrong.

The beginnings of alarmed cries sounded in her ears before the Portkey abruptly activated.

* * *

Harry's heart pounded with adrenaline as he dived behind one of the pillars surrounding the platform. He stuck out his arm to cast a hex at a Death Eater who was pointing his wand at Hermione, and she gave him a millisecond's glance in gratitude – that was all they had time for.

The pillar did not afford much protection, and an instant later a Death Eater fired off a spell at Harry's side. He spun, and the spell missed by inches.

He tried to find Snape, but instead he cast a curse at another Death Eater who was duelling with Remus. The Death Eater managed to block Harry's spell, but it left him open to Remus's attack, and the man fell to the ground, clutching his chest and screaming as blood flowed.

A beam of red light warned Harry of another spell to come. Another spell collided into the spell, and the two beams together caused a contained explosion.

Harry turned away to shield his eyes and shot another spell off at a masked Death Eater who caught his eye.

_Too small_, Harry kept thinking of the platform. There were too many people, and each duel spilled into another before long. It was a chaotic free-for-all of silently cast spells mixing into each other.

His eyes tried to find Ravenclaw's heart, and he caught a glimpse of it between limbs and shoulders. It was bizarrely unharmed by the proceedings so far – and that was when Harry caught sight of Snape, checked on either side by Neville and Ron.

If Harry could reach them, the three of them together could defeat Snape once and for all!

He made a dive for it, scrambling and smashing into bodies as he went, determined not to be drawn into a different fight.

He raised his wand toward Snape, and Snape, with a look of unexplainable relief, pointed his wand to the ground.

The resulting flash of energy knocked down everyone it touched as it spread to the edges of the platform. Harry was pressed to the ground by a strong, invisible force.

And then a spell hauled Harry to his feet.

Snape pulled him behind a pillar and held him near the platform's edge. Harry's stomach turned at the thought of the long plummet ahead of him.

'You _must_ listen to me!' Snape insisted as the others got to their feet. 'You are –'

A bright green beam of light blasted out of Ron's wand as he screamed in blood-curdling rage. Snape let go of him abruptly, and Harry lost his balance.

He fell…

* * *

The Portkey ride was rougher than she was used to. She fell hard onto the ground, and she heard Dean curse nearby at the drop.

Ginny pushed herself up, and her breath caught in her throat as she took a look around them.

They were surrounded by Death Eaters – at least a dozen.

Her hand only managed to move an inch toward her wand before she was disarmed by two spells at once. Dean, Lavender, and Margaret's wands flew from their pockets in the same way.

The hood of one Death Eater was caught by a gust of wind, and Ginny recognized the long blonde hair that peeked out.

The same Death Eater spoke, 'Bring her,' and pointed at Ginny.

'And him.' He pointed at Dean.

'Dad?'

Ginny's eyes snapped to the small boy who had Apparated with them. One of the Death Eaters waved the boy forward; he took off his hood and smiled at the child.

'Dad!' The boy ran over to his father and hugged him tightly.

The father hugged the boy in return. 'You've done very well.'

Ginny could hardly believe her eyes. Then she realized that she had no time to ponder the scene – she dove to her right, hoping to grab her wand, _any_ wand –

Three red bolts of light hit her in succession, and the world went black.

* * *

Harry blinked awake as if from a dream. Robe hems dangled near his head.

'Good, he's up.' Harry was helped up by Ron.

'You all right?' Ron asked.

'I suppose so, since I ought to be a pancake now. What happened?'

'Neville stabbed the heart,' explained Hermione, looking at Neville gratefully. 'The whole place just collapsed after that, and we all ended up here.'

They were in a well-lit, bare cavern larger than the one in which they'd met Boudica. It was back to normal, free of the influence of Voldemort's magic.

'Great timing,' said Harry, smiling over at Neville, who smiled back heartily. He tried to make his way over, but a couple other Order members stopped him with congratulations and pats on the back, so Harry waved him away, wordlessly encouraging him to enjoy the spotlight.

'Where are the other Death Eaters?' He noticed the two Death Eater corpses nearby. No other Death Eaters were around, though, and Harry was sure they couldn't have all been taken into custody already.

'They got out,' said Ron, his entire demeanour changing to spitting fury. 'Bloody Snape managed to keep his head long enough to Apparate out.'

Harry scowled in sympathy; he'd been surprised by Ron's ferocity before, but he knew it was because of what happened to his dad – Ron blamed Snape for suggesting Mr Weasley to Voldemort as the ideal victim.

'At least the heart's destroyed.' Harry looked to Hermione, and he saw her purse her lips in dissatisfaction. 'What's the matter?'

'It doesn't seem right. If Voldemort knew we were going to be there, why wouldn't he have defended the Horcrux himself? It seems awfully important to leave to the Death Eaters – especially such a small contingent.'

Ron snorted. 'Yeah, and it was nice of him to tell his friends how to disarm the traps in there,' he said sarcastically, indicating the corpses with his thumb.

'You're right,' decided Harry. 'There's something not quite right. It was all too easy.'

'Maybe it wasn't even a Horcrux!' Hermione insisted. 'How can we know for sure that it wasn't switched?'

'We can't,' he admitted with frustration. 'Bloody hell.'

'Let's go!' Remus called to them. 'You all right, Harry?'

'Fine,' he answered.

'I'll be glad to see sunlight,' said Ron gratefully. 'We've spent too much time in dark places lately.'

Hermione smiled at Ron, but Harry could see that it was oddly strained. She gripped Harry's hand tightly, and he stared at her in surprise as she held up her wand and Apparated them both away.

But they didn't land back near Grimmauld Place – they were in a clearing near Hogsmeade. For one frightening moment, Harry was worried that she was possessed again, but she spoke up immediately.

'We have to talk alone about Ron for a minute,' she said seriously. 'You understand what happened back there, don't you?'

Harry frowned, and before he could say anything, Hermione sighed in frustration. 'Don't you know what Ron tried to _do_?'

He shook his head, not comprehending at all.

'He tried to murder Snape, Harry! _Murder_ him!'

'Wouldn't we all like to?' muttered Harry. 'So what?'

She stared at him in disbelief. 'When Snape grabbed you, he used the Killing Curse!'

Harry was surprised by that, but when he thought back, he realized he should have known. He'd seen that curse often enough to recognize it. The thought of Ron using an Unforgivable Curse, no matter how well-deserved, made the contents of Harry's stomach roil.

'We should get back before he gets suspicious,' Hermione declared. 'But we both need to watch Ron and keep him separated from Snape if we can.'

Harry, deeply troubled, nodded in agreement – but he wasn't sure how they would manage it.

At Grimmauld Place, Harry was surprised that there was no one outside except for Ron and McLaggen.

'Potter!' McLaggen yelled loudly enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear.

'What?' Harry asked in a low voice, trying to encourage McLaggen to keep it down.

'Some students didn't show up to the assigned Portkey location from Beauxbatons. The Order's gone to check it out – they tracked down the spot the Portkey landed.'

Harry stared in horror as he realized what it could mean. 'Ginny!'

* * *

It wasn't hard to find the clearing; the Ministry workers weren't trying to be quiet. Harry stayed in the brush, damned to the shadows again by his status as a wanted man, as Hermione and Ron shuffled over to Tonks to find out what was going on.

Harry's blood froze as he caught sight of a girl's ankle. He moved as fast as he could to get to a better angle; when he saw the brown colour of the girl's hair, he breathed out in relief – it wasn't Ginny, but he still couldn't see her face clearly. A dead girl with dark hair was sprawled out near her.

Ron and Hermione reported back to him. They looked grim, but what bothered Harry most was that they were holding hands – it had to be something terrible.

'Lavender's dead,' Ron said in a grieved tone.

Harry watched as a wizard levitated the brown-haired corpse and caught a glimpse of Lavender's face. He shuddered and stared at the ground as images of Lavender – alive, smiling, happy – flashed in his mind.

'The other victim is a girl from Ginny's year. Dean and…and Ginny are missing.' Hermione's eyes were watering.

'We should've been here,' Ron continued, shaking as he stared back at the space where Lavender's body had been. 'I bet it was all planned out this way. Why did we have to find the Horcrux today? If only we'd been here…'

'There's something else,' said Hermione in a meek voice. 'There was a note left next to a student's wand…Tonks thinks it might have been Ginny's.'

'Where is it?'

Hermione sighed. 'The Ministry collected it before the Order. It's probably with Scrimgeour now.'

Harry felt sick. He knew he couldn't put off seeing Scrimgeour any longer. For Ginny's sake, he would grovel as much as he had to.

* * *

When Harry entered the Ministry lobby by Floo, he was placed under arrest.

The Magical Law Enforcement personnel who arrested him were not Aurors; they were young, fresh-faced, and looked like they'd be more comfortable behind a desk than on the front lines. The pair was very reluctant to arrest him, and they even turned their backs for him to escape. When he didn't leave and they were forced to take him into custody, they were as morose as if they were arresting their own mothers.

Harry asked to see the Minister before they threw him in a cell, and they were happy – and relieved – to oblige. When he reached Scrimgeour's door, he reminded himself that he was doing this for Ginny and swallowed his pride as far down as it could possibly go as he knocked on Scrimgeour's door.

'Sit down, Mr Potter.'

Scrimgeour wore a scowl. Harry would have thought that his capture would be a triumphant moment for the Minister.

He sat without any complaint and tried to keep his disdain hidden. His escort vanished behind the door as it was shut and locked.

With everyone else gone, Scrimgeour looked even meaner. 'I dearly wish to see how you intend to escape this time.'

'I'm here to discuss terms with you, Minister.'

'Oh?' Scrimgeour looked disbelieving. 'Why don't we both get to the point? I have something you want.' He waved the letter in his hand. 'And you have something I want.'

'What's that?'

Scrimgeour's scowl deepened, and he mumbled words that Harry couldn't hear.

'What did you say?'

Sourly, he said more clearly, 'You're the only one who can open the envelope. Naturally, we'd all like to know what's inside.'

He handed Harry the letter without comment. His name was written on it in magically glittering letters. He tore the envelope open and unfolded the letter:

_Mr Harry Potter,_

_I am currently in possession of several items that you likely wish to reacquire. I look forward to meeting you at Persephone Glade on the 31__st__ of December at eleven o'clock in the evening._

_LV_

Harry gripped the letter with both hands, crinkling the sides in his fist. Raw, indignant fury was swelling within him like a balloon being filled to the point of explosion.

'That bastard! That bloody –'

'It's a trap,' stated Scrimgeour baldly. He leaned back in his large chair behind his gigantic polished desk and looked up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression.

'You can't possibly do it, Potter. You're nowhere near prepared enough to face him.'

'I have time to get prepared, and I've been training intensively for months,' retorted Harry. He had too much time, in his opinion – well over a week of wondering whether Ginny was still alive. 'Don't try to talk me out of it – I _will_ meet him there. I have to save Ginny.'

Harry was surprised when Scrimgeour fixed him with a shrewd yet pleased look. 'Fine – then we'll need a trap of our own. December thirty-first…'

His lips turned down again in displeasure. He turned his attention back to Harry. 'I take it you want the Ministry's help with this?'

Harry hadn't thought that far ahead yet…but that would definitely be helpful in making the battle a fairer fight. 'The Order doesn't have enough people to stop Voldemort if he brings a large number of Death Eaters and Dementors – not to mention giants.'

'At least there's no full moon that night,' muttered Scrimgeour. 'But our numbers are depleted, Potter. We're rushing every paper-pusher through basic training just to keep minimally staffed. Still, I'm willing to give you everyone at my disposal – _I'll_ head the Ministry forces, of course.'

Harry could tell this was a sticking point. 'Fine, you can be in charge. I don't care. I just want to get to Voldemort.'

He was surprised that the meeting was going so well…and then he realized why. Scrimgeour was in desperate straits as well, and he must also see that they'd do better if they put together a united front against Voldemort on the thirty-first of December.

Scrimgeour looked at him oddly. 'Do you truly think you have a chance against him? You may be the Chosen One, as claimed by the prophecy, but he is powerful, and he would not face you unless he was sure he could defeat you.'

'He's been overconfident before,' said Harry, anger simmering again at the thought of Voldemort anywhere near Ginny. 'He's made a mistake by hurting people I care about. I'm going to defeat him this time – because I have to.'

'A good attitude to have,' Scrimgeour responded. He looked at Harry with curious pride. 'You almost have me convinced. There's only one amendment I have to your plan as it stands.'

'What's that?' Harry was dubious about accepting any more of Scrimgeour's "conditions" – but he also realized that he had no choice.

'You will train with an Auror of my choosing before the battle.'

There was a glint in Scrimgeour's eyes that filled Harry with suspicion, but the condition sounded reasonable, so he didn't see how he could refuse. 'Done.'

'Excellent.' Scrimgeour stood to his full height. 'Get out of my office. You're free to go. I'll see you here tomorrow.'

'Here?'

'Yes.' Scrimgeour's lips curled into a predatory smile. '_I'm_ the Auror who will train you. You've proven flighty and arrogant, Potter – and I'm not risking the lives of Ministry wizards and witches in this scheme unless you prove yourself to me. If I think you have a miniscule chance of defeating You-Know-Who…then I will help you.'

Harry's jaw set in an angry line, but he forced himself to nod.


	24. The Defector

**A/N:** This is the battle prep chapter. There's not much humour to be found here; Voldemort will be in the story a lot from this point on, and he's not a funny man. I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed the last few chapters - your positive feedback is _very_ encouraging.

_**Chapter Twenty-Four: **__**The Defector**_

George had been serving as Voldemort's unwilling assistant. The blackboards lining the walls on either side of Voldemort's chambers were thick with symbols George had scratched down in white chalk with the threat of his brother's demise hanging over his head.

The Dark Lord rarely stirred from his chair. George quietly suspected that he couldn't.

He ate, slept, and worked. The arithmantic equations and runic sigils Voldemort was working with were completely new to George. He'd never been great shakes at arithmancy – hadn't even bothered with it after his third year – but for once he could see a purpose for those silly academic equations. He'd picked up more about arithmancy and runes in his weeks with Voldemort than he had in years at Hogwarts.

George could tell that he was working on something practical – and not only practical, but _different_, even creative.

Whatever else one could say about Lord Voldemort, he was bloody brilliant. He was sewing half a dozen branches of magic together with needlepoint precision. When he was in a rare good mood or, more often, when he was pensively considering his next stitch, he would think aloud and even explain parts of what he was doing to confirm them to himself.

George had thought he was clever, but he couldn't hold a candle to such a mind. If it was taking Voldemort months to figure out this spell, it would surely take almost anyone else innumerable years.

He just wished he could understand what Voldemort was trying to do. Bits and pieces made sense, but not the whole picture. He was sure that it had something to do with the prophecy; no matter how crowded the blackboards became, there was always a space for the prophecy to be written in bold, curvy letters.

Once, when Voldemort was particularly thoughtful, George had heard him whisper, over and over, one line:

_Neither can live while the other survives._

Other than that, he knew that it reeked of Dark magic, and thus it couldn't bode well.

Yet he couldn't bring himself to rebel – not when Fred's life was at stake. If he could keep Fred alive just a while longer, maybe, just maybe, they'd both be rescued, and they could leave this terror behind them.

Three days before, the writing had stopped. Voldemort's plan was complete.

He'd expected to be killed now that he was useless, and his only hope was that he could die alongside his brother in a relatively painless way; the Killing Curse would do nicely.

He prayed for that as he was dragged to the door of Voldemort's apartments. Though he was a Gryffindor, he couldn't help but fear death a little – but he was also proud and refused to show his fear to the slime around him.

The first thing he noticed was that the ever-present skeleton hanging above Voldemort's throne, usually the first sight to greet him, was gone.

Then he turned his head, and the next horrible thing he saw was Ginny.

'George!' said Ginny, surprised. 'Are you all right?'

'Yeah,' he managed to choke out, frozen in place by the shock of seeing his sister here of all places.

Ginny tried to move toward him, but her arms were held tightly in place by Death Eaters. She struggled angrily against them; after she kicked one in the shin, he let go, and the other barely managed to keep her back.

Voldemort, with a long-suffering sigh, pointed his wand at her, and Ginny was momentarily paralyzed. The Death Eaters re-established their grip.

'Such a touching reunion of siblings – but why did you bring _her_ to me? I do not require her for some days yet.'

The Death Eaters froze in fear. 'We…we thought you needed her now, my Lord. You said to bring one of the prisoners –'

George knew Voldemort's moods well enough from constant exposure to see that he was even more irritable than on average.

'You thought wrongly, fool. If I needed her, I would have sent for her. Take her to the dungeons, and bring me the other one.'

As they dragged Ginny toward the door, she struggled again. Glaring at Voldemort, she yelled, 'You're not going to lure him into a trap! Harry's not as stupid as you think he is!'

Voldemort held up his palm, and the Death Eaters holding Ginny took it as a cue to stop moving. 'Harry Potter is precisely as stupid as I think he is. If he were any cleverer, he would have seen this coming.'

'You know you're going to lose, don't you?' Ginny retorted haughtily, her lip curled in disdain. 'You always lose to him.'

George was expecting an outburst, but instead Voldemort appraised her. George could see that he was deep in thought, as if Ginny were some magical mystery he was intent on sorting out.

'Charming,' he said with a sneer, waving to his Death Eaters to continue taking her out the door.

But before they could leave, someone else barged in, nearly running right into George.

'My Lord!' cried Snape, falling immediately to his knees. 'Please, excuse the interruption, but I must speak with you on an important matter!'

'Snape!' snarled Ginny. She tried to lunge at him, but the Death Eaters held her back. One of George's guards moved to help, and it took all three to keep her from Snape, who was ignoring her.

'Am I the only one here who knows how to use a wand?!' complained Voldemort, voice raised in anger.

The three Death Eaters all reached for their wands at once, leaving Ginny free for about a second before Voldemort hit her with another spell that stopped her in her place. She growled in frustration as she shot a hateful glare at Snape.

'You're so very popular, Severus. You must tell me how you manage to win so many friends – but first, please explain to me why there are a half dozen people in my room uninvited. Are you quite sure the new recruits you have guarding my door are up to the task?'

Snape stayed silent. George had to give him credit for brains.

'As for your "important matter", I don't intend to discuss it. Your concern for my health is unnecessary. I am fully prepared to face Potter. You are _all_ dismissed – except for you.'

Voldemort's eyes fell on George. He knew this was the end but tried even harder not to show it in front of Ginny.

When they were alone, Voldemort rose from his chair with some effort, pushing himself up with his arms instead of using his twisted legs. George had a fleeting thought of attempting to overpower him.

'I wouldn't recommend it,' Voldemort warned him.

George was getting bloody tired of Legilimency – but Voldemort, however weak physically, was still a very powerful wizard with a wand in his hand.

'You wonder why your sister is here.'

'No,' answered George, his anger stupidly rising to the forefront at the thought of Ginny. 'I know why she's here. You want to lure Harry in.'

Voldemort chuckled without humour. 'And you think that would work, do you? He didn't come for you. Why would he save her?'

George didn't answer. He'd learned that Voldemort preferred monologues.

'Tell me, does he _care_ for her? My spy at Beauxbatons claims that he visited her there. It is a long journey to take for someone who means nothing to him – but he had other reasons for being in France…'

Now that he was used to being on his feet, Voldemort was able to slowly pace the room. 'Perhaps Severus is correct,' he said quietly, with clear reluctance. 'Yes, perhaps this is too rash…and yet…'

He turned to George, and with the force of Legilimency, he boomed, 'Does he love her?'

'I don't know,' answered George, with no choice but to be honest because of the damn Legilimency. 'It isn't the sort of thing someone else can say for sure.'

Voldemort scowled. 'I do so hate basing my plans on other people's _thoughts_. I intend to make my own judgment on the matter.'

He dug deeper into George's mind, and George fell to his knees. It was one of the worst intrusions he'd suffered. His memories were torn from him and examined, going back further and further until Voldemort had seen every time George had witnessed Harry and Ginny together.

When it was over, he didn't get up for a long while, and Voldemort did not speak to him.

Some time later – George didn't know how long – heard a tentative knock on the door as if it were made with a sledgehammer. He whimpered and covered his ears.

'Ah yes, the boy.'

George looked up in confusion and noticed Voldemort's eyes wander to a long table on the far side of the room. The skeleton was there.

The door squeaked open, and Voldemort nodded the Death Eaters in. With them was a young man George recognized – Dean Thomas. At the sight of Voldemort, his eyes widened in fear as George's once had.

'Take Weasley and leave that one here with me.'

They levitated George back to his cell. He'd been so prepared for death that it was disappointing to remain alive.

* * *

Harry returned to Grimmauld Place sore, exhausted, impressed – and proud. Scrimgeour had been the Head of the Auror Office before his appointment as Minister for good reason. Though he still didn't like the man, his skill was undeniable.

And that had made defeating him, after long hours of no-holds-barred duelling, all the more satisfying.

Scrimgeour had beaten him a fair few times before Harry had improved enough to score a defeat of his own, but the Minister had been shocked at his own defeat – and he'd immediately started to address Harry with more respect in his tone. Harry reminded himself to thank Mad Eye and Remus for all their long hours of work training him; it seemed like they would pay off.

'Wow,' said Harry as he stood in the doorway. The house was full to bursting and very noisy. The entire Order was gathering battle supplies and inductees with fervour for the upcoming battle while Harry trained.

Several pairs of eyes caught sight of him, and he decided to make his escape before they came over. He hadn't been in a talking mood lately; he was far too worried about Ginny.

And there was Ron to consider.

Since Ginny and Dean had been abducted three days before, Ron had been terse, even with Hermione. He helped the Order with unstoppable energy borne of anger, but at night, alone, Harry had seen him sit on his bed and stare at his wand.

That was when Harry had done something he still felt a tug of guilt for. Remembering what Hermione had said, he had used Legilimency on his best friend.

Ron hadn't even noticed; his feelings were boiling at the surface, easy to sense. The blast of hatred had shocked Harry deeply. He'd thought there would be despair at Ginny's capture, but instead Ron was thinking back to his duel with Snape and wishing furiously that he'd managed to kill him after all.

Ever since then, Harry had searched his own heart for those feelings. He was furious that Ginny was being used like this, and he wanted to teach Voldemort a painful lesson. Yet he couldn't find the sort of hatred Ron had for Snape within himself…not even for Voldemort.

Harry saw Voldemort as a sickening, despicable creature who needed to die. But there was a difference Harry hadn't considered enough before between wanting a person dead and wanting to kill a person the way Ron did.

Harry was afraid that he wouldn't be able to kill Voldemort – not because of lack of skill, but because he didn't hate him enough to be his murderer.

He decided to do the only thing he could think of: ask Hermione for advice.

She was in her room; potion fumes wafted under the door. He didn't know what she was concocting, but it smelt like rotten eggs.

He knocked on her door. 'Oh, come in!' she yelled in frustration.

Harry hesitated, wondering if he should come back another time – or maybe never. But Voldemort would take advantage of his doubts in battle if he didn't settle them now; he knew that this was the wise, if awkward, course.

The potion was close to boiling over; Hermione saw Harry and Vanished the potion with a wave of her wand.

'There you are! How was it?' She scowled, no doubt thinking of Scrimgeour.

Harry shrugged. 'It was okay. He's not _so_ bad.'

'Good; we need him.'

'What are you working on?' He approached the cauldron.

'Oh…well, to be honest, it's a complete mess, and it was silly of me to try…I'm lucky I didn't blow the house up…' Hermione looked away in embarrassment.

'What is it?'

'It's _supposed_ to be Felix Felicis.'

Harry grinned. 'That's a brilliant idea!'

Hermione looked down sadly at her cauldron. 'Honestly, Harry, it would be stupid of us _not_ to take it. I can't believe Voldemort won't have thought of it – and he has Snape.'

Harry frowned; that hadn't even occurred to him. He realized how lucky he was to have a brain like Hermione's on his side. 'Why don't you ask Slughorn for help? He'd make us some.'

'Slughorn's moved _again_, and he hasn't left a forwarding address. The Order thinks he may have left the country.'

Harry sighed; of course Hermione would have tried to get his help already. 'Aurors have to get good marks in Potions to enter training – maybe Tonks could help.'

'I want to do it myself,' she said stubbornly. 'If I can't, then I'll ask her, but I feel useless enough as it is. I can't help you, I can't help _Ron_ with his problems –'

'Er, yeah, about that,' muttered Harry. 'We need to talk about Ron. He'll try to kill Snape again if he sees him. I'm not against Snape dying, but…'

'I know…I don't want it to be Ron either. It would change him too much.'

Harry was shaken by her words. _Change him too much? Does that mean she won't see me in the same way if I kill Voldemort? Will I be a different person – a worse person?_

'On the other hand, I suppose we can't afford to be squeamish now. Our enemies won't be.' But Hermione sounded saddened, and Harry was sure she didn't really mean it.

'I'm supposed to murder Voldemort,' said Harry bluntly. 'I don't know if I can do it. I mean, I think I _can_, but I don't know if I have it in me to…you understand, right?'

Hermione looked at him in utter amazement, as if it actually hadn't occurred to her before. 'That's not _murder_, Harry! It's self-defence! He's tried to kill you time and time again!'

'But this time I'm seeking him out.'

'Still, it's not – oh Harry, it's not the same at all!' she protested strenuously.

'It feels the same to me.'

'You won't technically kill him,' Hermione reminded him. 'The locket Horcrux and Nagini are still out there.'

'That's not the point,' he argued. 'Once those are destroyed, he _will_ be dead, and I'll be the one who killed him.'

'No one will shed a tear over him, except maybe Bellatrix Lestrange! He'd kill you if you had the chance!'

'Snape would kill me if he had the chance too.'

Hermione's voice wavered. 'It's…it's just not the same.'

But Harry wasn't sure – and Hermione didn't sound sure either.

* * *

Ginny had been counting the days. It was Christmas now.

She hadn't seen Voldemort since her arrival. Dean and George weren't nearby, either. Dirt clung to her hair and her robes, and the terrible cold slipped through her winter cloak. Meals were regular, at least, if not appetizing – she'd given up her hunger strike under threat of Imperius.

Voldemort wanted to keep her alive. Ginny found that more disquieting than if he'd tortured or killed her outright. She was sure that she was going to prove a liability to Harry, and she would never forgive herself if something happened to him because he'd tried to save _her_.

Ginny had to get out before that happened. She just needed to figure out _how_.

A clank of metal sounded – it wasn't at all like Bellatrix banging her head against the bars. Then a door opened and shut, and soon Ginny heard footsteps coming closer.

She was unsurprised to see a Death Eater and was almost relieved if it meant an end to her boredom. Besides, she had a better chance of escaping when she was outside the locked cell than in it.

To her dismay, instead of the Death Eater taking her away, he stepped in her cell himself and sat cross-legged on the floor. Ginny stiffened and sat up straight, wondering what was going on.

'Hello,' said the Death Eater as he removed his mask. Ginny recognized him immediately, and her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

'Malfoy.'

Draco Malfoy wouldn't meet her eyes. 'Weasley,' he muttered without his usual venomous intonation.

'What do you want?'

'Do you know what's going to happen to you?' he asked. 'Has the Dark Lord told you anything?'

Ginny paused, wondering if she could somehow obtain his wand. His position wasn't defensively solid; he'd have a hard time moving if she jumped on him and tried to wrench the wand away. On the other hand, he was larger and better fed.

And he seemed to be reading her mind, because he looked at her crossly and directed his wand at her.

'No,' she replied finally, realizing that escape was unlikely now. 'Do you know anything?' If Malfoy was willing to share, she'd take any information she could.

'Not much...except…'

His eyes met hers, and she was surprised at the desperation she saw there. 'It's something horrible.'

'I figured as much. This is Voldemort we're talking about,' she muttered flippantly.

'Don't say the name!' whispered Malfoy in immediate terror.

'I'm not frightened.'

'You should be.' Malfoy was adamant.

'Why are you here?'

He sized her up for a moment before he seemed to make a decision about talking to her. 'I need to know about the locket.'

Ginny's head snapped up. 'The locket? Slytherin's locket? That's right, _you_ took it. You…you didn't give it to Vol – him?'

'No.' He shifted, uncomfortable on the hard stone that Ginny had become used to – or maybe uncomfortable for another reason. 'I should have, probably, but…it seemed important.'

Ginny couldn't believe this opportunity had dropped into her lap. She knew that she could be a help to Harry after all. Why would Malfoy be talking to her unless he was already wavering in his faith?

'This _is_ important. If you have it, you _must_ give it to Harry.'

Draco snorted. 'I'm not going to just give it to him. I want guarantees. How important is it to him, anyway?'

Though he was rude, Ginny detected desperation. She decided that she could afford to play hard to get. 'How much can I trust you?'

He rolled his eyes and snarled meanly. 'I can _take_ the information I want from you if you won't give it to me.'

Ginny's anger sparked, but she cooled it. Perhaps she couldn't push him very far yet. Smiling serenely, she said, 'All right, I'll trust you.'

The statement obviously took Draco aback. 'Really?'

'You wouldn't be here if you wanted to give it to You-Know-Who,' she pointed out, trying to sound unaffected even though she was bursting with urgency. 'You'd have done it already.'

Draco squirmed, but he didn't disagree.

Ginny realized she had to give away some information to gain his trust. She didn't like revealing details about the Horcruxes – it wasn't her secret, it was Harry's. But she was sure that Harry would tell him if it meant getting the locket in the end.

'The locket is a Horcrux – it holds a piece of You-Know-Who's soul inside so that he won't die if his mortal body is destroyed. That's how he was able to return. He stored several of them in secret places, and Harry's managed to eliminate…I'm not sure how many.'

'So if they're all destroyed, he'll die?' Draco sounded hopeful, which made Ginny hopeful about her chances for success.

'No – after the Horcruxes are gone, Harry still needs to defeat him.'

Draco's hopeful look drooped. 'There's no chance of that.'

'Harry will defeat him eventually,' Ginny said with certainty that she didn't have to fake. 'He's managed to at least come off even every time they've met in battle, and he's been training really hard.'

'The Dark Lord is no pushover,' muttered Draco. '…But on the other hand, he's become really weak. You saw him.'

'What's happened to him?' She couldn't help but be curious. Whatever was making him look so decrepit, it had to be a new development; she was sure that Harry didn't know.

'I don't know. He won't say. I think Snape knows, though.'

'Snape,' spat Ginny as if his name were a curse.

Their shared dislike of Snape forged a momentary bond – until Draco looked away again, his face drawn with guilt. 'There's a battle happening soon. If Potter defeats him then, I'll give him the locket.'

'Draco, he _can't_ win unless the Horcruxes are destroyed. All Harry can do is force Voldemort from his mortal shell – and then it would only take a few committed Death Eaters like Snape to resurrect him. They won't make the mistake of thinking he's gone for good this time – he's probably already got everything set up so he'll come back almost instantly after a mortal defeat.'

Draco was quiet as he considered his words, and Ginny stayed silent, allowing him to think. There was nothing more she could think of to convince him.

In a voice laced with terror, Draco finally spoke, '_If _I were to give Potter the locket, I would still need guarantees.'

'He'd give you almost anything for it,' answered Ginny without hesitation.

'I'd take no less than clemency for me and my parents – and protection.'

'Done.'

Draco blinked. 'Seriously?'

'He doesn't like any of you, but defeating You-Know-Who is more important. Scrimgeour's practical – he'd agree too.'

Ginny wasn't as sure as she sounded, but now that she had Draco thinking seriously about it, she had no intention of posing any further obstacles to him.

'I…I need to think.'

'Take your time. I'm not going anywhere,' she joked.

Draco twitched, and Ginny examined his expression sharply. He knew more than he was letting on.

'I'll think fast,' he said as though it were a concession, and then he was gone.

* * *

Tonks and Hermione grinned gleefully over their small cauldron of dancing gold Felix Felicis, watching drops of it leap into the air and plop back down.

Harry couldn't be as enthusiastic. If it was true that Voldemort would likely take some as well, this would only make the two sides even in the upcoming battle.

'Get some vials, Harry!' ordered Hermione.

Harry couldn't help but grin at the command, and he mock-bowed as he backed out of the room, earning a lightly reproving glance from Hermione.

As he searched for vials, he came across Mad-Eye Moody – though it seemed more like Moody had come across him.

'The potion finished yet?' he asked gruffly.

'Yeah,' Harry replied.

He was of the same mind about it as Harry. 'It'll keep us on equal footing at best.' He stared through Harry with his magical eye. 'You should take some now.'

Harry frowned in confusion. 'The battle won't start for another twenty-four hours.'

'You should take a dose now, a dose when that runs out, and another right before the battle.' Moody sounded very sure of himself.

'It's toxic,' argued Harry. 'Can I take that much without –'

'It won't harm you if you take the proper dosage,' interrupted Moody. 'I know you're not fool enough to let Felix Felicis make you cocky. The dose for the battle is only to counteract the Felix Felicis that the other side's sure to take. _This_ is when it will matter. Luck in the preparation for the battle is nearly as important as luck in the battle itself.'

Harry could see his logic – and even if then Felix Felicis ended up doing him harm, it wouldn't kill him as fast as Voldemort would if Harry was without it. 'Okay, but I need to find some vials for Hermione.'

'I'll see to that.' Moody reached into his robes with a gnarled hand and smoothly pulled out an empty vial from one of his deep pockets. 'Take this now and fill it up for yourself before anyone else gets a drop. You need it more than anyone.'

As soon as Harry swallowed his first mouthful, his eyes glided to the dirty window – and he gaped as he saw who was outside.

* * *

Draco startled Ginny awake. 'Let's go!'

She looked up at him blearily. 'What?'

'Let's get out of here! Take me to Potter, wherever he is!'

She immediately woke up fully, realizing that this was her chance to escape. She was surprised that Draco intended to save her – but then she remembered that he wouldn't know how to find Harry without her.

'I won't leave without George and Dean.' She desperately wanted to get out before Voldemort's plan was enacted – and she knew it would be soon – but she couldn't leave them behind with a clear conscience.

'Your brother's gone – I don't know where – and Thomas is dead.'

Ginny's breath caught at the last. Dean was dead. And where could George be?

'We need to leave quickly! I've Stunned the dungeon guards, but they won't stay that way.'

Reluctantly, Ginny agreed to go.

He grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the cell; Ginny hadn't realized until then how weak her legs were now. Soon enough the blood returned to them, and she was keeping up with Draco with some effort.

They didn't encounter any Death Eaters on the way out; she wondered how Draco had managed that. Fresh air filled her lungs, but she had no time to breathe deeply.

'The Apparition barrier is further out,' he told her.

They broke into a swift run, the cold winter winds pounding in Ginny's ears.

And then Ginny's feet were dragged up into the air, and she went boomeranging backwards toward the Death Eater compound. Draco turned around and stared, an expression of utter horror on his face.

He gave Ginny one last sympathetic look before he took off again. Before the next spell could reach him, he had Apparated away.

Ginny was paralyzed in place, levitating inches of the ground. She stared into Voldemort's angry, sneering face. She thought she saw pain there, too – his legs seemed to be shaking from the effort of standing.

Then her eyes fell on Lucius Malfoy, who had taken off his mask and was staring in shock at the spot where his son had Apparated.

'It seems we have a defector, Lucius. You know what to do about that, don't you?'

'Yes, my lord.' His voice was raw.

Snape came up from behind Malfoy. 'My Lord, perhaps it would be wise to take the Felix Felicis I have brewed to assure that future escape attempts will be unsuccessful.'

Ginny could tell before Snape finished that Voldemort had no intention of complying. 'I don't require luck. Felix Felicis turns men into fools – and as I've already told you, there are too many delicate magical processes at work for me to add another unnecessarily. I will take no potions – not for luck, not for strength.'

'Potter will no doubt –'

'I don't want to hear it!' Voldemort bellowed, and Snape quailed at his anger. 'Why are you still here, Malfoy? Go kill your errant son before I decide to hold you and your wife responsible for his actions!'

Malfoy bowed and departed. Ginny was dragged back to the dungeons.

* * *

Harry had been expecting – stupidly, he realized – that his presence would go unnoticed by Malfoy until he was close enough to aim a spell. He hadn't had his Invisibility Cloak nearby, and he had no idea how long Malfoy would be loitering near Grimmauld Place – so he'd gone out the door, depending (already) on the luck of Felix Felicis.

But Draco had noticed Harry as soon as he was across the threshold of Grimmauld Place, and he'd stopped in his tracks instead of running or Apparating away.

'_Potter?_'

Harry realized by his shocked tone that Draco hadn't expected to see him here.

With his wand raised – Harry had no doubt he was more than a match for Malfoy now – he asked, 'Why are you here?'

Draco stared in confusion. 'I don't know. I wanted to find you. I guess I got lucky.'

'Do you have a message from your master?' spat Harry. 'Is he backing out?'

Draco smirked. 'Not likely. I have something for you – you know what it is. I want to make a deal.'

Harry's first thought was Ginny, but then he realized with sadness that Draco must mean the locket. 'Oh…sure. What's the deal?'

'I need protection. Voldemort knows I've betrayed him. I also want you to swear your people won't hurt my mum or dad. When this is over, the three of us can leave the country – I don't care anymore as long as we survive.'

_There's something different about Malfoy, _he realized. He seemed sad, older, tired. _Like me._

'Why shouldn't I take the locket and let you answer for your crimes?'

'Because I'm not dumb enough to have it with me. As soon as my parents and I are off this Merlin-forsaken island and hidden somewhere Voldemort can't get us, I'll give you the locket's location.'

'I won't help a murderer escape from his crimes,' said Harry, his voice dripping with disgust.

'I'm not a murderer!' he yelled in protest. 'I haven't killed anyone!'

Harry was struck both by his honesty and by how much not being a murderer seemed to mean to him. 'And what about your mum and dad?'

'You know about my father…but my mother, she would never…'

'Then I'll help you and your mum. You can even stay with me until we can find a way to get you both safely out of England.'

'This isn't a negotiation. Take it or leave it, Potter.'

Draco's hand tightened on his wand, but Harry didn't move to threaten him. Draco Malfoy had made one critical mistake in the negotiations: he'd told Harry that Voldemort knew of his betrayal. That meant Malfoy had no other hope – so he'd take the deal Harry gave him.

'Then I'll leave it. I won't give refuge to a murderer.'

There was an obvious twinge on Draco's face. Harry suppressed a smile – when it came to choosing between his own life and his father's, he had no doubt which would win out.

'You can't be serious. You need the locket.'

'Not really,' said Harry, shrugging nonchalantly. 'I can always get it from you after I beat Voldemort tomorrow. After he's gone I, the Order, and the Ministry can devote all our resources to finding you and the locket to make sure he never returns.'

Draco blanched. 'You wouldn't.'

Harry kept his face neutral, neither confirming nor denying. 'This isn't a negotiation. Take it or leave it, Malfoy.'

Fear crossed Draco's face, but it quickly turned to simmering hatred. 'I don't have a choice, do I?'

'No. Go get the locket while I get Remus. He'll need to give you an invite inside.' With a piercing, angry expression of his own, Harry added, 'And then you can tell us _everything_ you know about Voldemort's plans for tomorrow.'


	25. The Death of Lord Voldemort

**A/N:** This chapter contains graphic scenes, violence, murder, and the biggest plot twist I've got planned for this fic. It is downright gruesome in places, so be prepared for a thoroughly depressing (but hopefully enjoyable, in a twisted way) experience. All I can promise you is an eventual happy conclusion. Thanks for your awesome reviews, by the way :)_**  
**_

_**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Death of Lord Voldemort**_

'Here. Satisfied?'

The locket shuddered in Harry's hand, and he knew it was the real thing.

'Thanks,' he told Malfoy absentmindedly. His attention was already fixated upon the locket.

'We have questions,' said Remus, looming behind Malfoy.

Malfoy glowered and silently allowed himself to be led away. Harry, Ron, and Hermione listened as he descended the stairs, and only after his footsteps receded did Hermione ask, 'How should we destroy it?'

'We could try the Fred and George way,' said Ron with a wry grin – a grin that dropped instantly as he remembered that George was gone.

'Yes, perhaps,' agreed Hermione quietly, placing her hand on Ron's and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Harry felt that he had the Felix Felicis to thank for the locket, and he wished he'd thought to try it some months ago. If he could retrieve the locket this easily, then he realized that this was probably his best chance to finish off all the Horcruxes once and for all. 'We need to think about Nagini.'

Hermione, as usual, seemed as though she'd considered everything already. 'If we take Felix Felicis and Ron and I focus on finding the snake, I think we can kill it.'

With a stiff squirm, Ron made it obvious – at least to Harry, who knew him well – that the idea caught him by surprise, and he didn't like it. 'Ron?'

'I think we could be doing something more useful,' said Ron with guilty reluctance, not looking at Hermione. 'We'll be needed in the battle…we can always kill Nagini after.'

'There are plenty of people capable of fighting,' Hermione pointed out. 'Destroying the last Horcrux would be a major blow to Voldemort. It might even affect him psychologically and give Harry an edge.'

Harry realized then why Hermione was so keen on her and Ron being the ones to find Nagini: it would keep Ron distracted from Snape.

'I guess so,' muttered Ron. 'Fine.'

Harry was about to lend his own voice to Hermione's cause when a niggling, irritating detail scratched at the back of his mind.

'My mum has seen this locket.'

He dropped it into his pocket; the chain left a slight burning sensation in its wake as it slid out of his hand. 'I want to ask her about the locket – her simulacrum, I mean. If I'm going to get anything useful out of her, it'll be tonight.'

With determination, Harry hefted the bag onto the bed. The locket was taken out of his pocket and slammed onto the bed with finality, and he pretended to try to open the bag.

'Hello again,' said the simulacrum woodenly. Harry wanted to see it with that sparkle again.

'This locket – you've seen it. I need to know what happened when you found it.'

'Why?'

_Not this again, _thought Harry. He'd hoped that the Felix would make her overlook her persistent demands to know his motives. 'I have a friend. Her name is Ginny. She's in trouble, and I have to help her.'

She nodded respectfully, and Harry was hopeful. 'How do you expect that what I know will help her?'

'Voldemort has her, so I need to rescue her from him. If you know anything that can help at all – please share it.'

The sparkle in her eye was so close to human that Harry's breath caught in his throat. 'That isn't the answer to everything I have to share – but I can show you something that will aid you.'

She pointed her hand to the bed, and a thin black appeared as if it had always been there. Harry felt a surge of triumph.

She smiled and disappeared. Hermione's hands were already gripping the book like a prized treasure, and he and Ron sat back while she skimmed through it. They watched her become entranced until Harry couldn't take the suspense any longer.

'_Well_?'

'Oh Harry!' she declared with a beaming smile. 'This is…it's very complicated, but I think it's something that can entrap Dementors! If we get the Order to work on this, we can completely nullify their influence on the battle!'

Harry felt like he was flying – that would put the odds far closer to even. 'Do it.'

'I'll need help, and we'll need supplies –'

'The whole Order'll work on it if you need them!' Ron was happier than Harry had seen him since Ginny's capture. 'That's brilliant!'

Harry had to agree. _Thanks Mum._

* * *

He stared at the locket settled upon the floor of the attic, flustered by impatience. After all the time spent searching for it, destroying this next-to-last Horcrux seemed like an annoying formality to Harry now. His duel with Voldemort was so much more important and difficult that this was as dull as studying for an exam by comparison.

'_Emulsum magicum!_' said Hermione, trying the same incantation that had woken the dark magic in the Cup. Ron and Harry brought forth their Patronuses in anticipation.

And nothing happened.

'Bloody hell,' muttered Ron, as itchy to get the matter done with as Harry was.

'Any other ideas?' asked Harry.

'Plenty.' She eyed it grumpily, no doubt wishing she was with the others who were working on the Dementor Net.

The Patronuses vanished, and Harry unconsciously lowered his wand. 'Like what?'

Hermione opened her mouth, but that was all he saw before his body was smashed into by what felt like a heavy burst of water and drawn down.

'Harry!' he heard, and then he heard nothing at all but the furious swirling of water around him. He couldn't breathe, and his eyes were stinging with something venomous.

The agony was sharpened when he opened his eyes. He was trapped in a thick black substance that grabbed at his arms and tore at his skin. As his heart pounded, he caught a glimpse of the locket in the centre of the darkness, and with it was a wispy silver face that reminded him at once of a Patronus. It was smiling at him unpleasantly, and he was sure he knew the face…

Harry's instincts kicked in. With great effort, he raised his wand until it was pointing at the face. He pushed away the pain of his burning skin and cried out, '_Expecto Patronum!_'

The stag erupted from his wand, but the face didn't stop smiling. Harry watched in dismay as the stag struggled against the same blackness Harry was trapped in, but he _pushed_ the stag onward with all the force of will he could gather.

Gradually, after what seemed like an eternity, the smile upon the ugly face disappeared as the stag fought toward the locket. Harry thought he saw two other silver lights converging on the face, but he couldn't be sure – sparks were shooting off behind his eyelids as his struggle to breathe stretched on.

Harry was dizzied and tired and burning with pain. He didn't see whether the stag completed its task before his eyes closed…

When Harry opened his eyes, they fell immediately upon the locket. Its remains were evaporating like boiled water and tinted the air with flecks of gold.

There was something wrong; the pain wasn't gone. Harry realized as soon as he tried to push himself up that there was something very wrong with his wand hand.

As he hissed in pain, two pairs of arms dragged him up. 'Thank goodness! Oh, your hand!'

'It's all right,' he said. And, indeed, when Harry looked at it, it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. It was bleeding from deep scratches, but that was nothing compared to the charred bone that Dumbledore's hand had become. For that, at least, he was grateful.

'I thought the Felix Felicis was supposed to make us lucky!' cried Ron as he looked upon Harry's hand in horror.

'He's lucky to be alive!' retorted Hermione, grabbing Harry's arm by the wrist and examining the injury. 'Go get someone who can heal him!'

'What happened?' he slurred, stumbling until his knees hit the floor. He coughed up some of the black ooze.

'The spell worked, I think, but it waited to catch us unawares,' she told him when he had quieted and stopped shaking. 'You were drawn in, and all Ron and I could do was send our Patronuses after you. We're lucky it worked.'

Harry reluctantly agreed that luck had much to do with it – but the event also served as a sharp reminder that luck wasn't everything. He stared at his hand, and he realized that if he made a stupid mistake like that when he duelled Voldemort, he would end up dead.

But that wouldn't matter to Harry as long as Ginny lived.

* * *

The renewed skin on Harry's hand tingled. Nature's sounds of night had never seemed so loud. Chirping, crunching, and buzzing set Harry's nerves on edge. He shifted, standing right on the spot where Ginny's wand had been found, waiting for the enemy to appear.

_Ten f__ifty-two_, he read off his watch after much squinting. Hermione kept bumping up against Harry's shoulder as if checking that he was still really there.

There was a small core of Order members standing with him – the others were setting up the Dementor net at the edges. Ministry contingents led by the remaining Aurors, along with Scrimgeour himself, were placed strategically around the area. Harry recalled the deployment map in his mind, and as he waited, he turned to face the spots where the Order members he knew were mixed in. _Tonks is southeast, Bill is south…_

At exactly ten fifty-nine, Harry heard the first sound of Apparition. They arrived in quick succession, and it sounded like popcorn popping. Occasionally he caught glimpses of light from wands, but whether they were from friend or foe, he didn't know, so he didn't fire off any curses.

The battle flared. Harry heard screams of alarm and shouts for backup, and he saw distinct flashes of multi-coloured light all around him. A nearby tree burst into flames, lighting up the area; dark silhouettes scrambled in patches of forest and small groups of opponents faced each other in the open, their wands shooting spells of all colours – but mostly green, the colour of the Killing Curse.

But it was all taking place away from the centre of the field, where Harry was waiting. Where was Voldemort?

At forty-five seconds past ten fifty-nine, the world around Harry changed. The screams seemed louder, his senses sharper, and a bluish fog settled upon the ground up to Harry's knees.

He smiled as something inhuman screeched in alarm off in the distance. The Dementor net was working.

Just as he reached that conclusion, the clock struck eleven. A white light blinked from the ground at his feet.

Harry looked down and saw a golden snake curled up with its head reared. It was so still that he would have thought it was a statue if not for its long, twitching tongue.

_Touch me, and you will find my master, _it hissed.

'A Portkey,' he said aloud. Someone grabbed his arm; by the shape of the hand, he was sure it was Hermione.

He leaned down until he was close enough to reach out a finger and touch the snake's snout. A group of hands mimicked Harry's action, encircling the now silent snake. He wasn't sure exactly who all the hands belonged to, but he knew Ron and Hermione were with him, and that was all that counted.

'Hold on.'

Harry's touch triggered the Portkey. The sounds of the battle around him abruptly halted.

* * *

The cold of their new location smacked Harry from all directions. The ferocious winds were all too familiar from his trip to Durmstrang. He was sure they were far north.

He looked around for enemies but saw no one, so he focused on rounding up his forces, whoever they were. Ron was helping Hermione to her feet. The next person Harry spotted was Neville, who pushed himself off the ground a foot away. Harry was glad; he'd trust Neville easily with his life.

To Harry's consternation, McLaggen was striding toward him from only slightly farther away. He would rather have had someone more reliable at his side, but he wasn't in a position to pick and choose now.

Luna was moving toward him as well, and Harry frowned deeply. That wasn't right at all; Luna had been setting up the Dementor net.

'What are you doing here?' he asked Luna in confusion as she smiled up at him.

'I like Ginny. I want to help you rescue her. I Apparated to your position after the Dementor net started to work.'

'I heard them shrieking,' commented Hermione with a shiver. 'It sounded ghastly.'

Pleasantly, Luna told them, 'The Dementors are part non-corporeal, but as they were drawn to the net, they became completely solid. As soon as that happened, their bodies gurgled and silvery clouds burst from their mouths. Then they deflated and ended up as a puddle of –'

'We need to get going,' interrupted Ron, looking at Hermione's disgusted expression in sympathy.

'Where's Voldemort?' demanded Harry. He shouted, 'I'M RIGHT HERE, YOU COWARD! SHOW YOURSELF!'

'He isn't here.'

Harry turned, and there was Snape, standing in a place that had been unoccupied only moments before. He was alone. Harry automatically grabbed Ron's wand arm and held it down – Ron shot him a look of surprise, but he didn't struggle.

'Where is he?'

In a tone of sharp urgency, Snape stated, 'We need to have a discussion. You can't face him tonight.'

'I have to – he has Ginny.'

Snape's frustration mixed with furry as he asked, 'Would you destroy your chances of ever defeating him for the life of that girl?'

'I'd do anything for her,' said Harry without hesitation. 'Tell me where she is, and we'll let you live.'

Ron's eyes bulged in indignation. 'No!' he cried. His hand broke away from Harry, and he yelled, 'Ava –'

'_Expelliarmus!_'

Ron's wand flew in the air. He turned furiously to face Hermione. 'WHAT WAS _THAT _FOR?!'

'I won't let you do it!' she protested fiercely.

'THERE'S NO TIME FOR THIS!' yelled Snape in such desperation that even Ron stilled in shock. 'He'll become suspicious soon! I must eventually take you to his side, Potter, unless you gain the good sense to –'

'I _will_ save Ginny!' he interrupted. 'Enough! Take me to him!'

'She will die no matter what path you choose! Face him now and you will suffer a fate _worse_ than death!'

That was enough to catch Harry's attention, and he was going to ask what Snape meant – but then he heard a far-off hiss as clearly as if it were shouted into his ear.

He'd never recognized a snake's "voice" before, but he knew this one: it was Nagini.

'Nagini is near,' he told Ron and Hermione. They both understood what that meant – Hermione appeared hopeful, while Ron, picking up his wand, was bitter.

Harry wasn't sure if they'd still be friends after this, but he needed Ron's loyalty for one more night.

'The snake is a decoy,' said Snape warningly. 'It's meant to draw the others off so that I can lure you to the Dark Lord!'

'For once he and I are in agreement, then.' Harry took a determined step towards Snape. 'As much as I despise you, I would rather face him now.'

He turned to Ron. 'Destroy the Horcrux,' he ordered, and he took a step forward, hoping Ron would obey.

Surprisingly, it was Neville who dared to disagree with him. 'You can't go with Snape alone!'

'This is my fight. I'm prepared.'

'There's nothing in the prophecy about you having to face Voldemort without any backup,' Neville insisted, coming toe-to-toe with Harry. 'I'm going with you.'

Harry shook his head. 'No; I need you here. I want you to be in charge; lead the others and kill Nagini.'

'But –'

'Please, Neville – I need you to do this. It will help me more than you know. When you're done, come find me.' That was the only compromise he could offer, and his eyes begged Neville to take it.

Neville stared heatedly at Harry, but eventually he said in a low voice, 'Yes, sir.' Then he saluted and walked back to the others.

'We're leaving,' Neville told Ron authoritatively, picking him out as the most likely to disobey. 'Let's go.'

For a moment, both Ron and McLaggen looked ready to mutiny, but Hermione drew her wand and said something Harry couldn't hear; after that, they seemed to fall in line.

Harry didn't watch them after that; his path had diverged from theirs.

He hadn't been so close to Snape since before he'd turned traitor and murdered Albus Dumbledore. Thoughts of the murder made Harry wish dearly that he didn't have to bypass bringing Snape to justice this time; he promised himself that he wouldn't let him escape justice once the battle with Voldemort was over.

The ex-professor's hand gripped his shoulder like a vice. 'You're making a mistake,' Snape said; coming from him, it sounded like a plea.

Harry was tired of words. 'Take me to Ginny.'

Snape shuddered and gasped, looking as if he were fighting something deep inside him. Hatred enveloped his eyes. 'So be it, you bloody hopeless fool.'

Harry heard Luna call, 'Good luck!' Then Snape Apparated them both away.

Their landing was light; Harry didn't feel disoriented at all. Without another word exchanged between them, Snape was gone.

Harry's eyes honed in on Ginny. She was tied tightly to a thick pole a short sprint away by magical bonds that glowed bright red.

Standing directly beside her was Voldemort. He ran as fast as he could toward them, but he was stopped a few meters away by an invisible barrier that refused to be dispelled – and no spell could get past it to cut the rope binding Ginny.

'Harry Potter,' croaked Voldemort, and it was then that Harry got his first real look at his opponent since his fifth year. His stomach rebelled at the sight, and he swallowed back the vomit that rolled into his mouth.

It was the most disgusting thing Harry had ever seen in his life. Voldemort looked more like an Inferius than a man; his skin was so riddled with decay that Harry could see bone peeking through the gaping holes. Many of Voldemort's teeth had rotted out of his skull. But the smell was even worse, like a corpse in its most offensive stage of rotting.

Ginny looked like she was going to puke. Harry knew he would if he were that close to it.

'What happened to you?' he blurted out. He tried to stop breathing any more than he had to.

'This is because of you, Potter,' he rasped. Harry saw that Voldemort was not very steady on his feet; he really did not want to see what sort of decrepit, despicable creature of decaying flesh and bone was covered by those robes. 'Enough; let us finish this.'

And, without any further warning, Voldemort held a knife to Ginny's throat and slit it.

'NO!' Harry yelled in horror.

The bonds holding Ginny up unwound and disappeared before they hit the ground. Ginny fell to her knees, her hands moving to cover her neck. But it wasn't enough; blood flowed freely over her hands and fell in a torrent onto the ground.

Harry saw fear in her eyes before they fell dark. Her bloody corpse sprawled onto the ground.

It was a feeling unlike any he'd ever experienced before. As tears rolled down Harry's cheeks, he understood true hatred for the first time. He raised his wand at the despicable _thing_ that had murdered Ginny, and, consumed with grief, he yelled out the one spell that could blast through the barrier:

'_Avada Kedavra!_'

Voldemort was smiling when he was engulfed by the green light. His body hit the ground, but Harry only saw the first signs of its dissipation into dust – in moments, he was at Ginny's side, staring into her dead eyes.

'Ginny? _GINNY!_ Please, no!'

He fell to his knees and, his robes soaking in her blood, pressed his face into her hair as uncontrollable sobs overtook him.

'Come back, please, Ginny,' he choked out, his arms tightening around her body. 'Please, no, please…'

Her muscles suddenly clenched, and she gasped loudly for air. Harry was sure he was dreaming. He shifted to look into her face, and though her eyes were closed, she was clearly breathing in and out. Her chest rose and fell strongly.

Harry's gaze was drawn to the deep cut on her neck; it was magically healed, and no trace of it remained except the blood that covered them both.

It was a miracle.

Hope welled in Harry's chest, and his hand touched her face affectionately. 'Ginny?' he whispered.

Her eyes opened, and she smiled.

Then Ginny's hand grasped Harry's neck with inhuman strength. Bright red eyes and a twisted smirk foreign to her face unravelled his hopes and stoked unimagined fears in his soul.

She got to her feet and held Harry in the air by his throat.

'This is all I imagined it would be,' she – no, _he_ – declared with deranged glee.

Harry was thrown several feet. He slammed into the ground and coughed violently.

'You have no idea what has happened yet, do you?' he asked rhetorically. Ginny's voice nearly squeaked with excitement. '_Avada Kedavra!_'

Harry's body was wrapped in a dull ache. Something strange inside him was tugged insistently, but like chewing gum stubbornly clinging to the underside of a desk, it refused to budge. The pressure receded, and Harry opened his eyes.

He stood up; he had somehow moved a few feet away.

Then Harry stared down at his own corpse in muted horror. A few seconds later, it dissolved, just as Voldemort's body had before.

'What is this?' he asked in a shaking voice. He looked into Ginny's face, which was now being worn by his greatest enemy.

'You're still alive, Potter,' Voldemort answered. He rolled Ginny's eyes. 'More precisely, your body was killed, and you were provided with another.'

Harry examined himself; he still looked the same. He hadn't invaded anyone else's body – how was this possible?

'You are part of the grandest manipulation of magic in all of history. Go ahead, try to kill me! I'll be resurrected, just as you were – but in this girl's body, of course.'

He examined Ginny's body with disdain. 'It will do, I suppose. My magic is still intact.'

Within moments, Harry found himself tied to the same pole Ginny had been before. Voldemort paced around him with a triumphant smile.

'You _do_ deserve an explanation, Potter. For providing me with true immortality, I am willing to grant you that much.

'Even before I discovered that you knew of my Horcruxes, I was dissatisfied with the arrangements I had made to protect myself from death. Being incorporeal for a decade was a shockingly unpleasant experience. I understood, then, what the witch Boudica had warned me of. I did not wish to pay such a high price for immortality again.

'The bare bones of this new connection were forged in Godric's Hollow all those years ago. Surely you have wondered why you possess Slytherin's gift, the ability to speak and comprehend Parseltongue? It is something shared between us: the part of my soul recently torn by murdering your mother had not scarred over yet when the Killing Curse bounced back, and while the rest of my soul managed to escape, a small part of me was drawn into you. It did not make you a Horcrux, for the proper rituals weren't followed, but it did join us in a base way that I couldn't hope to replicate with another.

'But there was still the trouble of the prophecy. It was only after procuring the full details of it from your mind that I realized our true potential together. _And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives!_

'The choice of words is critical, Mr Potter,' he told him as if he were a professor stressing an important detail. 'It precludes us both living, but it does not preclude us both _surviving_. Though one of us still had to die…'

His smile broadened across Ginny's cherry-red lips, and he leaned in closer. 'Your blood was destroying me from the inside out. I did not expect that when I used you to resurrect myself years ago. Your mother's love was in your blood, and it was eating me alive. Thus my physical "death" was inevitable.

'The other parts of our connection were added a few moments ago. When you used the Killing Curse to end my life, your soul was torn by the act. I killed you in turn, and as your soul left your body, I snatched the torn part of it for myself – which, incidentally, took much more forethought than your accidental procurement of part of my soul when you were but a child.'

The blood drained from Harry's face in fright as he realized what Voldemort had done. He continued, 'There was a missing glue required to bind your soul to me enough to survive death. A Horcrux requires a bond of blood – of murder – but that would not be sufficient. I needed something stronger – and that's where this came in.'

He pinched the flesh on Ginny's arm.

'Love,' whispered Harry brokenly.

'Very good. Yes: love. It took me a long time to discover what your mother's love accidentally caused, and though I do not comprehend the mechanism, it was simple enough to repeat the process. Your pathetic love for this worthless girl has allowed me to bind part of your soul to this body, into which I've poured the last of my essence.

'Our life energies are bound now. It is in every way superior to a Horcrux; we do not require resurrection rites after death, for we each only need to borrow automatically from the life energy of the other until our footing on the material plane is secured. No matter how many deadly spells I sustain, your presence will bring me back, over and over.'

His smile turned cruel, and Harry was afraid of whatever he was thinking. 'I intend to remove your limbs and hang your torso and head above the fireplace in my Ministry offices. I shall have to sew your mouth shut so you don't irritate me with your chatter, and perhaps I will remove your vocal chords entirely.'

With a thoughtful look that Harry had always thought looked pretty on Ginny but that now repulsed him, Voldemort added, 'You don't need ears or eyes to live, either…'

Harry pictured his life as a stump hanging on Voldemort's wall and shuddered. Voldemort's eyes in Ginny's face glinted heartlessly.

'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some Aurors to kill with impunity. _Stupefy!_'

Harry only felt the depths of his hopelessness for a few short moments before he was knocked out.

* * *

He bubbled back to consciousness slowly. Memories filtered in, and he could only accept small amounts of them at a time. Once he had absorbed the entirety of the horror, he listened to what was going on around him. It was mostly a mash of voices, but soon he clearly picked up part of a sentence:

'_Healer, a new patient has been registered –_'

He was in St Mungo's. How had he gone from being tied to a pole in the middle of nowhere to St Mungo's?

_I won't find out until I open my eyes, _he realized. But he didn't want to live – or survive – in a world where Ginny was dead and a monster wore her body. He didn't want to live in a world in which he shared his soul with Voldemort and sustained the eternal life of his greatest foe.

_I don't have a choice_. With his last ounce of courage, Harry allowed his eyes to open.

He was in a curtained cubicle within a very busy ward. Gurney wheels squeaked across the floor just outside, the occasional moan pierced the air, and mediwitches were speaking in soft voices to injured patients.

'You're awake.'

Harry was startled, and his eyes snapped fearfully to the source of the words. 'L-Luna?'

She was almost invisible in the darkened cubicle corner. 'Hello Harry. How are you feeling?'

'I don't feel anything.' His body was fine, but he felt numb inside. 'What happened?'

Luna took a deep breath. With precision that sounded rehearsed, she responded, 'We found Nagini and killed her. Then we spotted red light, and we Apparated toward it and found you with Ginny.'

Harry bolted up. What if they had mistaken Ginny for…Ginny? 'No! You don't understand –'

'I _do _understand,' Luna insisted forcefully enough to quiet him. 'We could tell right away that she wasn't acting normally. Ron ran up and tried to hug her.'

Harry's stomach plummeted.

'I think he took her by surprise. She only stabbed him. He's recovering.'

He swallowed and discovered that his mouth was very dry. Then he sat back in bed and let Luna's words wash over him.

'Neville, Hermione, and Cormac managed to keep Voldemort occupied while I Apparated away with you. They were lucky enough to evade most of his spells thanks to the Felix Felicis. Then Cormac got to Ron and escaped. Apparently he – or she, I suppose – was very angry by then.'

'So everyone escaped alive?'

'No; Neville is dead.' Luna paused, and began again quietly, 'The Order is going to pick up any body parts they can find as soon as possible for a funeral. And Hermione…'

Luna's carefully measured speech broke down. Quietly, she said, 'Hermione's not doing very well.'

'What happened to her?' Harry demanded to know.

'She was injured by some spells. She…she's blind, and one of her arms is…they aren't sure about whether she'll keep it.'

His chest tightened and he stared up at the ceiling, not knowing what to say.

Without prompting, Luna added, 'The battle was going well for our side. We killed a lot of Death Eaters; they'd been counting on the Dementors, and they didn't have a chance without them.'

'He doesn't need the Death Eaters anymore,' said Harry, his dry throat making his words come out in croaks. 'He doesn't need an army. He can't be killed. He doesn't even need Horcruxes anymore.'

'What are Horcruxes?' asked Luna curiously.

Harry stared at his lap. In a horrified whisper, he realized, 'It doesn't matter now.' They had destroyed all the Horcruxes, and it had all been for nothing.

He was very glad that Luna didn't pressure him for more answers. 'You're right that he couldn't be killed. When he entered the battle, it went badly for us right away. He was hit by the Killing Curse at least once, but when his body fell – well, Ginny's body – he reappeared a moment later.'

In a strained gesture, Luna pressed her hand into Harry's and squeezed. 'Remus was captured. We're not sure how safe Grimmauld Place is now, but Tonks says he won't talk.

'No one's sure how Voldemort became so unstoppable. I think the Minister wants to talk to you about that. The Order, too,' she whispered, her eyes staring sadly into his.

'I should check on Hermione,' declared Harry, not ready to talk yet.

Luna bit her lip. 'I don't think that's a very good idea.'

'Why not?'

She leaned in so close that Harry could smell the onions in her earrings. He supposed she was trying to be kind and sympathetic, but he had no room in his heart for it. 'Hermione's not acting very kindly – she's been traumatized by what happened, and she's taking it out on Ron. And Ron is mad at, well…'

It took a moment for Harry to understand. 'Me. Oh.' Of course Ron would be furious with him. It was his fault that Hermione had been so badly injured. It was his _failure_. Yet somehow the fact that Ron was angry with him came as a shocking blow, and he found he couldn't take anymore.

'I don't think he'll be mad at you for very long,' she commented. 'He's really just mad at the world.'

Harry didn't find that very comforting. 'Can you do me a favour, Luna? I know I don't have a right to ask, but could you not tell anyone that I'm awake yet?'

One of the nice things about Luna was that she didn't need feelings explained to her. She smiled in understanding, patted Harry's hand, and rose from her chair. 'I'll look in on Hermione and tell you how she's doing.'

Luna left, and Harry was alone. In his lonesomeness, he was overwhelmed by an unexpected burst of emotion. _Ginny! _He couldn't hold back a loud sob. Ginny was gone.

He had failed everyone. Harry turned over in his hospital bed and wished that he'd never woken up.

He wished he'd never lived at all.


	26. The Last Horcrux

**A/N: **I wish I could say that this chapter is more uplifting than the last, but I'd be lying if I did. This one is actually more morbid in places. I was really glad to receive such positive feedback for my extreme twist last chapter; hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter just as much._  
_

_**Chapter Twenty-Six: **__**The Last Horcrux**_

Ron gently cradled Hermione's uninjured hand as she rested. He watched her peaceful face and tried to draw some of that peace into himself, but his mind was too disturbed.

'_Leave me alone! I don't want your pity!_' she had cried out to him between sobs.

'_I don't pity you, I –_'

'_Go away!_'

But he'd come back as soon as she was asleep. His eyes traced the dark red burn running from her right eye socket down the side of her face and under the neckline of her hospital gown. Ron would have torn his own eye out and given it to her if he could.

Everything that had happened to Hermione was his fault. If he hadn't been so stupidly injured, he could have helped her fight. He should never have let Harry go off on his own, and he should never have run over to "Ginny". Why hadn't he seen that something was wrong?!

_Constant vigilance_. Moody's catchphrase had never been so stinging. Ron felt the urge to punch something, but he didn't want to wake Hermione, so he kept his feelings bottled.

Luna slipped between the curtains and examined Hermione anxiously. 'Is she going to be okay?'

Bitterness surged in Ron's heart. 'What do _you_ think? Does she _look_ "okay" to you?'

With an unflappability that he found irritating, Luna replied, 'She looks better than she did before. Will she keep her arm?'

'I don't know!' he snapped. 'How can you _ask _that?!'

'Hermione will want to know when she wakes up.'

Ron's nostrils flared, but his anger ebbed. He knew it wasn't fair to be cruel to Luna – and she was right that Hermione would normally want to know everything about her own condition and everyone else's.

He remembered that Hermione had been asking after Harry before. Ron hadn't been able to focus on anything but Hermione, especially since Harry seemed to have no injuries at all.

His bitterness swelled again. _A pity that Harry's luck didn't rub off on Hermione or my sister._ But he knew that was horribly unfair even as he thought it, and he would never say it out loud to Luna.

'How's Harry?' Ron asked; he knew he sounded angry.

'The same.' Luna took a seat opposite Ron by Hermione's bed and stared up at the white lights.

He frowned, finding the answer completely unsatisfying. 'You mean he hasn't woken up yet?'

Without turning her eyes to his, she answered cryptically, 'I'm not supposed to tell you that he's awake yet.'

Ron blinked as he processed that. 'So he _is _awake?'

Luna looked at Ron as though he were dense. 'I'm not supposed to say,' she repeated slowly. 'I can tell you how he's feeling, though.'

He waited, but Luna didn't volunteer any information. 'So how is he?'

'Sad and angry. He blames himself for everything, just like you.'

Ron bristled, not liking to be told how he was feeling by a weirdo. 'Whatever. He'll be fine. The Order will debrief him and figure out what to do next.'

That was the first moment Ron had even considered that there had to be a "next". He realized he wasn't ready to think about it – not nearly ready.

They sat in silence, avoiding each other's gaze and trying not to disturb Hermione, until they were interrupted by a Healer who needed to check on Hermione's condition. They exited to give him room to work, and Ron stood uncomfortably in the midst of a large collection of human suffering.

_At least they lived to suffer, _he thought, thinking sadly of Neville's death. He had died a hero. Part of Ron had thought that would be his own fate, but instead Hermione had wasted resources on rescuing _him_ and left herself open to attack.

He sucked in an uncomfortable breath, and Luna looked at him pityingly. His eyes bored into Hermione's curtains as he waited for the Healer to leave.

'Have you seen Harry?'

Bill's voice startled him. He looked into his brother's scarred face and wondered if that was how Hermione would end up looking. _But Bill can see, at least_.

Bill was impatient, and Ron wondered why. It was only as Luna responded, 'Yes; he's over there,' that Ron realized he'd been asked a question.

'He's not in his bed,' Bill insisted with urgency in his tone. 'Have either of you seen him about?'

'No,' said Ron. He hadn't seen Harry since the battle, he realized, and that seemed like a very long time ago, though it had been only a few hours.

'Damn it.' Bill turned away and strode out of the wing.

Luna appeared deeply troubled. 'That's strange. He didn't want to get up before.'

'You don't suppose he's in trouble, do you?' Ron knew, despite his anger, that he'd never forgive himself if anything happened to Harry because Ron couldn't bear to check in on him.

'Oh, I doubt that anyone's taken him away by force, if that's what you mean. Voldemort wouldn't need to hide if he came in here; he could kill all of us easily now that he can't die.'

'_What?!_ What do you mean he can't die?'

Luna shushed him; they were gaining both disapproving and frightened looks. Quietly, she told him what had happened – that Voldemort, or Ginny, or however Ron was expected to think of his sister now, was hit by the Killing Curse and fell, but he (or she) reappeared moments later, killing Ministry loyalists in droves.

'Does Harry know why Voldemort can't be killed?'

'I think so, but he didn't tell me.'

Ron knew that, no matter how out of spirits Hermione was, she would want to know about this. Maybe it would be enough to snap her out of her grief.

He looked toward the exit to the wing only a few feet away from Harry's hospital bed.

'Let's find Harry.'

* * *

They still hadn't found Harry three days later; that was the date of the funeral for Neville and everyone else who had been killed in the battle. It had to take place at night in a secret location, for the Ministry didn't have the manpower left to fight Voldemort, and even Scrimgeour knew that all they could do was wait for the final, inevitable push before the government fell.

People were mostly surprised that it hadn't fallen already.

But for now Ron didn't think about that. He held onto the back of Hermione's wheelchair and let the funeral service filter through his ears. He spent most of the time looking down at the top of Hermione's head; a lot of her hair had been burnt off, and he stared at the portion where a wig had been sewed in. The colour was almost a perfect match, but it wasn't good enough to fool Ron when he examined it closely.

She must have been able to feel his eyes on her, because she looked up and sent him a nasty glare. Ron immediately looked away in embarrassment, and his eyes fell on one of the saddest people in the group (as if there were any happy ones): Tonks, sporting grey hair that had been falling out by the handful.

No one knew where Remus was, but they did know that he was still alive and he hadn't talked; Grimmauld Place was still protected by the powerful Fidelius Charm. It wasn't in Voldemort's interest to kill Remus before he divulged the house's location, so everyone in the Order knew that he was probably being subjected to inhuman tortures as they stood around and listened ineffectually to the funeral service.

Tonks was, naturally, the most deeply affected by that fact. She alone was still bothering to try to find Voldemort, even though people quietly insisted to her that it was pointless. Now that he had nothing to fear, He Who Must Not Be Named (people were even more stringent about not speaking his name now, having entirely forgotten Dumbledore's insistence upon it) was certain to make his presence all too obvious all too soon.

Whether Harry would ever come back was the real question. In his angriest moments, Ron shouted to the skies and proclaimed Harry a coward for abandoning them – but the part of him that had learned through a painful stab in the back to think things through insisted that Harry wouldn't have left without a very good reason.

He wondered what Hermione thought. She had avoided talking about Harry's disappearance; perhaps she, like Ron, wasn't sure how to take it yet.

* * *

The Prime Minister was certain that his first few months in office had been amongst the most ill-fated and bizarre in his nation's long history. The public at large agreed that it had been ill-fated, but he was generally seen to be handling matters better than the previous government.

The public, however, did not have the slightest clue just how bizarre his job portfolio had become. And if he were to mention it at one of his weekly media briefings as an excuse for why he was distracted from the policy changes he'd promised in the election, he'd be committed to an asylum, and his party would never be able to live it down.

For once, the Prime Minister could sympathise with his predecessor. He'd been given an unusually kind welcome to the job, considering he was of a different party. His predecessor had once oddly taken him aside and told him, 'Good luck; you'll need it. You'll wish to take a certain painting down in your office – you'll know the one by the end of the night. Don't bother trying.'

At the time, he'd thought that the message was merely the rambling of a tired old man. Now he knew better. He couldn't believe his predecessor had accomplished so much while living in the middle of a civil war taking place in his own country, completely unknown to the majority of its people.

The wizards made the northern Irish seem like a peaceful lot.

The Prime Minister had grown used to the almost daily interruptions informing him of calamities he could do nothing about. It had been unusually long since the last visit from Fudge – over three days – and he was starting to wonder how the battle Fudge had told him about against You-Know-Who had gone (no, he refused to think of him as "You-Know-Who" – it was nonsense. The fellow's real name was absurd enough: Voldemort).

He was about to head off to an important cabinet meeting to set out his plans for the new year when not only Fudge but at least a dozen others tumbled out of the fireplace and headed for the door (or magically blinked out of the room) as fast as they could.

'Excuse me!' the Prime Minister insisted, sputtering in surprise at the sudden appearance. 'What on earth –'

Fudge grabbed his arms. 'Run! He's taken the Ministry!'

The Prime Minister didn't understand. Fudge, eyeing the office door through which others were running (the Prime Minister didn't know what he was going to tell his secretary about this), decided to take pity on him and explain a little more.

'You-Know-Who has taken control of the Ministry, and he's headed for the administrative offices as we speak! We're evacuating out of every available exit!'

'I see.' The Prime Minister wasn't sure what to say to that. Though he'd heard of the evil wizard's power (he still couldn't believe he was thinking the words "evil wizard" in all seriousness), it hadn't ever occurred to him that he'd actually _win_.

Fudge insistently tugged on his arm. 'You have to leave as well! He'll –'

Fudge was hit by a flash of green light, and his mouth stopped moving mid-sentence. He keeled over, and the Prime Minister yelped as he realized that the man had just died in his office (how would he explain _that _to his secretary – or to the electorate?!)

The Prime Minister turned to the only person left in the room – the person who had just come through the fireplace and murdered Fudge.

She looked like a perfectly ordinary, pretty young lady. That was what he thought until he looked at her eyes: they were red and catlike, and most definitely not normal – not that anything about his life could be called normal anymore. He had people in robes leaping out of his fireplace.

The Prime Minister knew enough about wizards and witches at this point to understand that running wouldn't do him any good, so he turned instead to his political instincts – they were the best of any politician around.

'Please, have a seat.' He indicated the chair in front of his desk.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked coldly. Without another word, the Prime Minister found himself seated in the very chair he had indicated – and she was sitting across from him in his own seat.

'I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I never take pleasure in meeting with dirty Muggles,' she said sweetly.

Considering that this girl was capable of killing him with the flick of her wrist – proof of which was currently sprawled out on his office floor – he decided to take the insult in stride. He'd been called much worse than a "dirty Muggle", after all.

Before he could respond, another person came through the fireplace. He was a wizard with long, greasy hair, a hooked nose, and an unpleasant sneer on his face. This, the Prime Minister supposed, must be Voldemort (no, _Lord _Voldemort – it wouldn't do to let the title slide).

'Your Lordship,' he greeted, bowing as politely as he could without leaving his chair (he didn't dare to with that frightening girl watching him).

Lord Voldemort's jaw dropped, and he looked over to the girl with fear in his eyes.

'Oh, this is amusing,' the girl remarked with a steady grin. 'He thinks you're _me_, Severus. You should see the look on your face.'

The Prime Minister inwardly cringed at his _faux-pas_. At the same time he wondered how a teenaged girl could claim to be a wizard who had terrorized Britain for decades. But he'd long ago learned that very little made sense with these people, and trying to unravel the mystery wouldn't help him out of his present (potentially deadly) situation.

'I don't think Scrimgeour is here,' said the man who was apparently not Lord Voldemort after all.

'My eyes can tell me that much,' snapped the girl. She turned to the Prime Minister, and her eyes bored into his own with an unnatural glow.

'Scrimgeour didn't pass through here,' she said after staring at him. Her eyes darted away. 'He must have taken another route out of his office.'

Yet another wizard came through the fireplace and nearly bumped into the first, who hadn't moved since he entered the room. This one was wearing a mask, which he promptly took off. His long blonde hair obscured his face as he bowed to the girl, and then he turned to the Prime Minister with a look of superior disdain.

He'd never been looked at so insultingly in his life, and he gave as good as he got.

'You boys can stop your staring contest now. It is boring me,' said the girl. The blonde's eyes immediately broke away, but not before betraying sincere fear.

The Prime Minister turned back to the girl. 'Er, Lord Voldemort, may I ask, now that you seem to have won your war, what do you intend to do?'

'I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you're worried about.' The girl turned to glare momentarily at the blonde, who seemed displeased by this pronouncement. 'I'm not going to bother ruling over Muggles. I intend to kill your kind as I see fit, but killing _all_ of you would be a colossal waste of my time. So long as you show me the respect due to a higher being, I don't care who is in charge here.'

This was the first good news the Prime Minister had heard that morning, though he wasn't keen on the bit about killing as he saw fit. But the Prime Minister was a savvy man, and he could see that Lord Voldemort was presently basking in victory – as the Prime Minister had done months ago (it seemed like years). He wasn't inclined toward negotiation at the moment, and the Prime Minister held no ground to negotiate, so he decided to wait until a more opportune moment to discuss a fairer settlement.

'That's the best settlement you'll get, Muggle,' the girl told him coldly, wrinkling her nose in distaste as if the Prime Minister stank of rotten eggs. The Prime Minister blinked in confusion; surely he hadn't spoken out loud?

'The Dark Lord can read your thoughts,' the dark-haired, sour man supplied helpfully. The Prime Minister nearly gasped; never, in all his time as a politician, had he needed to keep his thoughts in check (the press would have lynched him if they knew what he really thought of _them_).

'Don't concern yourself; we'll never meet again.' The girl rose from her chair and turned to the blonde. 'Lucius, have someone installed in the Prime Minister's outer office to keep watch on him; make sure he follows him _everywhere_. I won't countenance a conspiracy.'

'Yes, my Lord.' The blonde-haired man, whose name was Lucius, looked silly bowing to a young girl, but the Prime Minister quenched that thought immediately.

As Lucius turned to the fireplace, he was startled as the fire flared up again and yet another person stepped through it.

The Prime Minister, determined to think happy thoughts, decided that at least this arrival was a very attractive woman. That was before the blonde moved aside, and the Prime Minister saw that she was holding two severed heads by the hair. He gagged, but managed to resist vomiting.

'I've taken care of Scrimgeour,' the woman announced in a pleasantly chiming voice as she set one of the heads on the Prime Minister's desk. He cringed as thoughts of his desk being hauled into court as evidence in a murder trial pranced through his head.

She set the other head down, too, but more gingerly. It had a younger face and reddish hair, and it was wearing a pair of glasses. 'This one's a present for my dear George.'

The woman smiled at Lord Voldemort. 'Does this meet with your approval?'

'Of course,' Voldemort answered, but as she observed the unnamed dark-haired man, who was gawking at the newly-arrived woman in unmitigated horror, Lord Voldemort didn't look pleased at all.

She turned back to the Prime Minister. 'Don't you have a meeting, Minister? You'll be late.'

The Prime Minister was a clever man; he got the message, and he'd never been gladder to leave his office. He only prayed that they would take the corpse and the severed heads out before he returned.

* * *

The door closed quietly behind the Muggle Prime Minister. '_What have you done?_' asked Severus Snape in a strangled voice. He watched the woman intently, as though too transfixed by dismay and disbelief to look away.

The face of Lily Potter smiled at him, and she flipped her mane of red hair.

'I'd been hoping to surprise you with her,' said the Dark Lord. He stepped away from the desk, and his female hand came to rest on Lily's shoulder; he had to reach up, for Lily was a little taller than Ginny Weasley.

'Before my battle with Potter, I created one last Horcrux for insurance. I allowed Potter to destroy the other Horcruxes so that he would think he could destroy me in our final battle, but I could not take the risk that his love for the girl was not genuine.

'_This _is the result, forged of Lily Potter's bones.' He appraised her, and the smile dropped gradually from his face. 'It is a pity…'

He gave Ginny's arm a disdainful poke. Then he turned back to Snape, whose face was turning a sallow green. Lily's eyes fell on him with an air of emotionless sensuality.

'I have no need of her, and I cannot make use of her. You were fond of Lily Potter, were you not, Severus? Lord Voldemort always rewards his followers,' he declared in his girlish voice. 'I suppose I should give her to you…to do with as you please.'

Voldemort wore a lecherous grin, and Lily smiled provocatively. Snape shuddered.

'I'm sure that is…too generous, my Lord.' Snape bowed deeply and averted his eyes from them both.

'I always am,' Voldemort declared, sounding entirely serious.

'Severus was always shy around me,' Lily announced. She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and leaned in. Snape recoiled as far as he could from her without breaking her hold.

Lucius Malfoy appeared bemused by the situation.

'Ah, and Lucius, how shall I reward you? Some important government post, perhaps?'

Bemusement was immediately wiped from Lucius's face; talk of reward seemed to have reminded him of something sour. 'The reward of serving you is too great, my Lord.'

'Such a flatterer,' Voldemort remarked. He looked toward Lily and Severus, who were still in an amorous embrace – Snape unwillingly so. 'It's a shame about your wife, Lucius. I suppose you ought to have chosen better breeding stock.'

Malfoy's back straightened as he apparently recalled how his wife was murdered, brutally, for the crimes of his son. 'Yes, my Lord.'

'I'll have to find you someone,' Voldemort remarked offhandedly, parting through the other three to reach the fireplace.

As soon as he was gone, Snape pushed Lily away.

She continued to smile at him, unperturbed by his rejection. Then her gaze alighted on the severed head of Percy Weasley again. 'I should give this to George while it's fresh! Do excuse me, Severus dear.'

She walked into the fire with a look of relish on her features.

'You are fortunate that he didn't comment on your unenthusiastic reception of his gift!' Malfoy told him with panicked eyes.

'That thing is a monstrosity!' shouted Snape furiously, pointing toward the fireplace where Lily had made its exit. 'It is a crime against nature! If it touches me again –'

'You have no reason to complain compared to me!' yelled Lucius. 'He murdered my wife!'

'We're lucky he hasn't killed _us_ yet,' said Snape frigidly. 'We are no longer required. He will grow tired of us all and get rid of us.'

'What are we to do?' Lucius asked in a low voice. 'It's no longer possible to kill him, not even temporarily!'

Snape considered the problem. 'It is still possible to contain him eternally, though challenging – and, as you know, I would be incapable of assisting unless he were silenced. I must obey his every word.'

Malfoy did not appear keen on Snape's bare-boned plan. 'That will only get us killed sooner.'

Snape shrugged. He waved his wand about the room and removed the offending gore. After that, he moved toward the fireplace.

Before he walked into the flames, Snape quietly remarked, 'I would rather die than be touched by that thing wearing Lily Potter's bones ever again.'

* * *

'…_and our new Minister for Magic has declared that he will keep Bernie Wimple on as Britain's representative to the International Confederation of Wizards. The ICW has not yet recognized our Lord's legitimate government. Our Lord has stated publicly that any official who is willing to bear his Dark Mark is welcome to return to work under the new regime…'_

'Change the frequency,' ordered Hermione.

Ron sighed and reached over to the radio. It only emitted static and high whistling noises between stations that said the same things about how wonderful Lord Voldemort was for the country (though none of the commentators dared to speak his name, which Ron thought ought to indicate that he wasn't so swell). It was very late, and almost everyone in the house was in bed. Ron was sharing his room with Hermione, Bill, and Fleur now; Grimmauld Place was the only safe haven available, and it was completely packed with every Order member Remus had ever invited in.

'Allow me.'

She held out her hands, and Ron handed her the radio. After a few taps, the frequency band of the radio lengthened. Ron took the radio back and fiddled with the newly available frequencies until they found a station broadcasting from France.

…Which was, of course, broadcasting in French. Fleur, who was slumped exhaustedly in a chair, her belly bulging with her child-to-be, translated for them:

'…Now zat 'E 'Oo Must Not Be Named 'as taken unlawful control of ze wizairding government of Great Breetain, two questions are on everyone's minds: will 'e move against ozzer countries, and where –'

Fleur broke off, but Ron heard the name "Harry Potter". He knew that he, Hermione, and the rest of the Order couldn't be the only ones wondering where Harry was.

Fleur continued, 'On ze day of You-Know-'Oo's defeat of ze Meeneestry, we 'ave information zat 'Arry Potter left ze scene alive, but 'e 'as since disappeared. Zere are also unconfirmed reports zat You-Know-'Oo 'as possessed ze body of one of ze 'Ogwarts students 'oo was abducted by Portkey from Beauxbatons.' She looked at Ron tearfully; Bill squeezed her hand in support.

''E is scheduled to make a speech before ze International Confederation of Wizards at zair upcoming summit.'

The station broke for commercials after that.

'They won't help us,' said Hermione with no emotion in her voice. 'They'll hope he'll be satisfied with wizarding Britain and leave them alone. He'll consolidate his power here and then invade others.'

'And no one can stop him,' muttered Ron. 'He can't be killed.'

'It must have something to do with Harry,' Hermione insisted.

Ron found it strange not to have her fiercely inquisitive eyes staring into his, searching for his agreement. He supposed that Hermione must find it much worse than strange.

Bill nodded, staring at his wife's stomach. 'We need him.'

Hermione's jaw was set in a grim line, and it made her face look very hardened without her eyes to light it up. Ron knew Hermione didn't mean to appear so harsh; her burnt face still pained her whenever she moved, so she tried to keep it still. 'Then we have to find him. We haven't even tried to look yet; he could be hiding in plain sight.'

The word "sight" made the room freeze. Ron tried hard not to stare at the scarf that was wrapped around Hermione's head, covering her eye sockets.

Bill bravely pressed through the tension. 'We can't look for him. We don't have the resources. He'll have to find us if he's still…'

There was silence. It was broken by a knock on the door.

'Come in,' said Hermione. Ron noticed that her lips were parched and handed her a glass of water, which she drank gratefully.

He would never have expected it to be Draco Malfoy. 'What do you want, Malfoy?' Ron barked.

Malfoy was standing in the doorway nervously. Kreacher was hissing from behind Malfoy's legs; he'd become very attached to the young man whom he wished was his true master. The two were inseparable, which was fine by Ron because it made it easier to avoid the two most worthless creatures in the house.

'Master shouldn't try to help the traitors, master should leave with Kreacher…'

'I have a proposal for you,' he said. He boldly stepped into the room. 'It's to do with Kreacher.'

Ron eyed the house-elf with undisguised hatred. 'If you want to chop off its head and hang it somewhere, you won't find any objections from us.'

Kreacher's ugly mouth widened with glee, and he rapidly nodded his head. 'Kreacher likes that idea, yes…'

'I propose that we use him to find Potter.'

Ron could detect a subtle frown through the silk scarf covering Hermione's brow, as though she were puzzling something out. Then she grinned broadly in a way Ron hadn't seen since before she lost her sight.

'That's a brilliant idea! Why didn't I think of it?! Oh, I've been so caught up thinking about _myself_…!'

Hermione pouted, furious with herself. Ron was perplexed. 'I don't get it.'

Malfoy rolled his eyes. 'I can't believe that a Muggle-born understands and _you_ don't – though I suppose your family has always been too _poor_ for it to matter to you –'

Ron snarled, but Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder to quiet him. 'He means that a house-elf can _always_ find his master – so long as he hasn't been ordered not to.'

'Kreacher doesn't want to find old master!' he cried, stomping loudly on the ground.

'But you'll do it for me, won't you?' asked Draco.

Kreacher nodded frantically again, almost as taken with the idea of obeying an order from Draco as he was with the thought of having his head removed and displayed on the wall.

'Thank you, Draco,' said Hermione diplomatically. 'That would be very helpful.'

Hermione's thanks seemed to take Draco by surprise. 'Well, we're all in this together now,' he muttered, uncomfortable with the praise. He drew his eyes away from her face, his body language indicating disgust, and Ron was angered by the idea that he found her appearance gross now.

Hermione shouldn't have to put up with that sort of look from the likes of Malfoy. Perhaps it was a blessing that she couldn't see his revulsion.

* * *

Voldemort turned the radio off by twisting the dial so hard that it broke.

'What is Potter doing?' he wondered aloud furiously. 'He hasn't attempted to raise a larger army to capture me…he hasn't made contact with any foreign government at all! It's been weeks, and there's no sign of him!'

'He's not as clever as you are,' Lily commented calmly from her chair. Her fingers ran rhythmically through George's hair; he would have liked nothing better than to escape her touch. She terrified him more than _he_ did now.

He couldn't really be frightened when he looked at Voldemort in his sister's body – he could only feel the full force of the intense grief that always lurked below the surface.

'Just because you would have thought to do that doesn't mean he will,' she added.

Voldemort didn't look appeased. He was going to give Ginny wrinkles with all that frowning. When George nearly laughed at that ridiculous thought, he realized that he was certainly going insane. To distract himself from Lily's touch, he gazed into the deadened eyes of Nagini's petrified corpse hanging in tribute on the mantle. It reminded George of the spot in his cell where Lily had carefully and precisely hung Percy's head, so he looked away.

He turned to Voldemort, whose angry eyes stared into the roaring fire as if he could find Harry inside it by searching hard enough.

'Where _are_ you, Potter?'


	27. Thrice Defied

**A/N: **First off, here's a detailed explanation of what happened between Harry and Voldemort in chapter twenty-five, so that everyone can hopefully understand it better:

Before the ritual in Chapter 25, Harry had a piece of Voldemort's soul - not a Horcrux, but enough to give him bonuses like Parseltongue. Voldemort figured out, after months of thoughtful research, that if he were able to bind Harry to him in a similar way, it would create an eternal helix between them through which life energy could be cycled. That would allow Voldemort to resurrect himself automatically using Harry's life energy if he ever died (and vice versa).

Getting Harry to kill him was challenge #1: to do that, Voldemort allowed Harry to destroy his Horcruxes, thus allowing Harry to think that he could be killed. For challenge #2, Voldie needed to grab onto the piece of soul that would be torn by Harry's act of murder: he knew that Lily had managed it accidentally using the power of love, so Voldemort decided to try the same thing. Since Harry obviously doesn't love Voldemort, he needed to use someone Harry DID love - thus the need for him to inhabit Ginny's body.

As a bonus, killing Ginny got Harry made enough for him to kill Voldemort without a second thought (though Voldemort doesn't realize this, having no true understanding of the power of love – he thought Harry would only face him if the Horcruxes were destroyed, but we all know that Harry was willing to face him even without destroying the Horcruxes first if it meant he could save Ginny).

So that's that. As for the title of this chapter, I suppose it's technically incorrect - only two defiances of Voldemort are catalogued here. The third will be the the next chapter :)

_**Chapter Twenty-Seven: **__**Thrice Defied**_

February was beginning as a frosty month, but, as he had every evening for the past week, Harry took his morning tea outside, looking across the dead, dark, cold landscape and drawing metaphors about himself.

There was something different about him. Harry felt like a portion of his heart had been ripped free; grief and anger hit him harder than they ever had, but those moments were fleeting, and the rest of the time he felt little at all. Emotion had always come easily to him, but it didn't now.

That should have made him afraid. He calmly sipped his tea.

He wasn't sure how he'd ended up here. He had drifted, his thoughts mattering more to him than his physical location, and a week ago he'd found himself on the doorstep of Fleur's grandfather's cottage. Will had invited Harry in for tea, talked about the good old days, and seemed to have no idea at all that Harry had just lost a war, all his friends, and the love of his life.

They listened to old music on Will's wireless. Sometimes a news report would break through, but Will always talked over it, demanding that they stop cutting into his favourite song (every song seemed to be his favourite). Not that Harry would have understood it anyway; the news was in French.

But Harry could take a guess at what was happening. He tried not to, though – that always led to wondering about Hermione and Ron, and they were better off without him. It had struck him, as he lay alone in his hospital bed, that Voldemort would certainly try to find him, and there he was, waiting to be taken away.

Then he'd be left watching his friends tortured in front of him for Voldemort's amusement. He refused to play any part in amusing Voldemort ever again, so he had left, and he had wandered for weeks, wondering what he ought to do.

He realized early on that going home was out of the question. He would face Voldemort, and the war would begin again. It wouldn't end until everyone on either side was killed and they were the only two wizards left on the island. Where would the fight escalate from there? Would the Muggle population be decimated? Would the battle move to the global stage?

No; even if Ron and Hermione could never forgive him, he owed it to them to keep them safe as best he could, which meant staying far away. There was no way for him to win against Voldemort.

And even if there were, Harry couldn't do it. He didn't have the courage to be responsible for Ginny's death again. Some Gryffindor he'd turned out to be.

So his only option was to wander and stay out of Voldemort's way. He knew he had to move on soon; staying in any one place for too long increased the chances that he would be found.

He set his empty cup down and looked across the white landscape, deciding that he had to leave tomorrow.

Then Kreacher popped up next to Harry's leg. As he said, 'Master,' in a very grudging tone, Harry nearly fell out of his chair in shock. He tried to hold onto that emotion, but surprise was always fleeting, and now it slipped through Harry's grasp like an oily fish.

'Why are you here?' Harry asked tonelessly. He couldn't even muster up disdain for Kreacher now.

'The _true_ master sent me to find the master,' Kreacher said. In a low voice, he muttered, 'Master's blood-traitor friend and the ugly Mudblood want Master back, but Kreacher wishes the master would die...then Kreacher could stay with his real master, oh yes…'

Harry didn't know who this "true" master was, but "blood traitor" and "Mudblood" meant Ron and Hermione in Kreacher-speak. 'Go back to Grimmauld Place, and do _not_ tell anyone where I am. Don't lead them to me or give them any hints, either.' He knew he had to keep his orders as tight as possible to restrict Kreacher from finding a way around them.

At this, Kreacher seemed furious. 'No! Kreacher _must _tell! The true master wants Kreacher to tell!'

To Harry's surprise, Kreacher started sobbing loudly; Will would be woken up by all the noise if Harry didn't stop him. 'Be quiet, Kreacher!'

Kreacher covered his mouth, but kept screaming silently. Harry was tempted to let Kreacher tell them if it meant so much to him. It didn't really matter if his friends knew he'd been here, did it? He could leave tonight if he had to.

But then a better idea came to mind. Maybe his friends, even though they couldn't still want to be his friends anymore, just wanted to know that he was alive. That brought a new sparkle of hope to Harry's eyes; at least they didn't want him dead.

Or, he realized, maybe they wanted to kill him themselves.

Harry sighed again. No, they were too good for that. 'You can tell Ron and Hermione that I'm fine. Tell them to stop looking for me; they're better off without me. Tell them…'

Harry paused, and for once Kreacher was expectantly quiet. It didn't seem like enough, but what else could Harry say? He could warn them to run, but he knew they wouldn't. He felt shamed by that. He wished that he could help them, but he didn't know how.

_If only I could find some way out of this. _If Hermione really wanted to find Harry, he knew she'd find him eventually – though he couldn't understand why she would want to do so after losing so much for his sake.

'Tell them I'm working on a plan.' At least that might appease Hermione for a while. Harry didn't know what sort of plan he could think up, but from that moment forward he decided to try.

Kreacher left, and Harry, exhausted, started to think about what he could do to help the war effort without Voldemort murdering all of his friends and allies.

If he could capture Voldemort the way Voldemort had planned to capture him, at least they could keep him locked up for eternity – that would be a start, anyway. He'd thought of that already, but Harry didn't know how he could possibly defeat Voldemort without actually killing him (since then he'd only be resurrected); it seemed impossible.

Kreacher popped back onto the porch. Harry was even more surprised by his second visit than he'd been by the first; this time he really did tip over the chair.

'What is it now?' he asked, attempting to disentangle his legs from the chair's.

'The Mudblood has a message for you.' Kreacher looked very disgruntled about playing messenger.

Harry shook his head at Hermione's determination. 'Let's hear it then.' And then he'd order Kreacher to _not _visit him again.

'It says you're a stubborn stupid-head, and it wants you to come back right now.'

That was expected. 'Tell it –' Harry shook himself as he realized he was starting to talk like Kreacher '– tell _her _that I can't go back right now.'

'It also wants to know what your plan is.'

Harry's eyes widened. He didn't actually have a plan yet, after all.

He needed something to tip the balance in his favour. What did he have that Voldemort didn't? Harry didn't even possess a complete soul now. Hermione didn't know about that, either, and he couldn't imagine how he'd explain what a monster he was.

'Tell her I'm working on it.'

Kreacher left, and Harry realized belatedly that he hadn't instructed him not to come back. He put his chair to rights and sat down again, shivering slightly in the cold, and waited for Kreacher's inevitable return.

He didn't need to wait long. Harry wondered how Kreacher could keep Apparating to France and back at his advanced age. 'It says you don't have a plan.'

'Hey!' he objected, insulted. 'No, wait –'

Kreacher had Apparated away again, apparently taking that to be the entirety of his message. Harry shook his head in exasperation and went back to waiting.

'It says we need a weapon, and.'

Harry waited, his eyebrow climbing into his hairline. 'And what?'

Kreacher didn't say anything else. He made himself comfortable on the freezing porch and started picking his toes. Apparently Harry wasn't the only one who had been cut off.

Hermione did have a point, though – at least half of one. A weapon...something like the Dementor net, but for Voldemort…

'_That isn't the answer to everything I have to share…'_

The memory of the simulacrum's words were cuttingly effective. She'd known how to take care of the Dementors, but that wasn't _everything_. It wasn't likely that his mother's simulacrum had anything to say about defeating an immortal Voldemort, however.

Still, it was a decent place to begin his search.

'Kreacher, bring me the bag that belonged to my mother – and _don't_ tell anyone you're doing it.'

Kreacher muttered nastily, but one glare from Harry sent him scuttling off to do his bidding.

That was one idea – he was already doing better than he had in the whole of the last month. Having something to do made Harry feel loads better. Now that he looked back, he realized he'd been moping, and Gryffindors didn't mope. What would Dumbledore have thought of him?

Harry's face broke into a grin. _Dumbledore!_

* * *

If not for the smoke belching from the chimney of Hagrid's cabin, the grounds of Hogwarts would have looked completely abandoned. Harry had been preparing to see a Hogwarts completely overrun by Death Eaters, but it seemed that Voldemort had left it alone – for now.

He clomped through the snow, his mother's heavy satchel causing him to lean a bit to one side. Hagrid's cabin would be his first stop; not only did he want to see a friend who hadn't been critically injured as a result of Harry's stupidity, but he also needed the keys to enter the castle proper so that he could speak to Dumbledore.

As for how he'd enter the Headmaster's office…he decided to take things one step at a time. He didn't know where McGonagall was, and she'd give his location up to the Order in an instant, so Harry wanted to avoid her if he could.

Harry knocked loudly on Hagrid's door; Fang started clawing the door immediately from inside. A pair of eyes peeked through the curtains covering the windows, and when Hagrid saw who was there to see him, the door was thrown open.

He thought he might suffocate under the strength of the hug he received. 'Harry!' Hagrid's voice vibrated in his ear, and his feet soon touched ground again. 'Come in, it's not safe, standing 'round out here.'

Hagrid bolted the door behind them and immediately set about brewing some tea. 'How have things been around here, anyway?'

'Eh, all right, all right…'

Fang took up a place next to Harry, his tail between his legs. His back arched, and he started growling incessantly at Hagrid.

'Aw, shut it, Fang…dog's not been acting normal lately…'

Hagrid deliberately avoided Harry's eyes as he said this.

'I've been gone for a while, and I haven't heard any news,' Harry said deliberately. 'Could you catch me up?'

Now that Hagrid had been tasked with the mission of telling Harry all there was to know, he revealed everything: the Ministry takeover, the evacuation of Hogsmeade, the "re-staffing" of the _Daily Prophet_, and so on.

'I've stayed on here,' said Hagrid stoically. 'Wouldn't even think o' leavin' Hogwarts. But I reckoned I'd be dead by now.'

Harry supposed that Hogwarts wasn't really a strategic asset – but something still didn't seem right about it. He knew Voldemort pretty well, and he knew that Hogwarts was as important to him as it was to Harry.

He knew he wasn't as brilliant as his opponent, but he was being sorely underestimated.

'Hagrid?'

'Yeah?'

'_Stupefy!_'

The spell caught Hagrid in his massive chest. His eyes lit up furiously, and Harry's doubts were confirmed – whoever this was, it wasn't Hagrid. It took a few more spells to bring him down – the impostor still wore Hagrid's massive, magic-resistant form – but eventually the false half-giant was felled. Harry searched him for a wand and found it; he snapped it in two and tied the man up with a magical rope to make sure he couldn't escape before his return.

Fang gave the impostor one last bark of triumph, and then he grabbed the leg of Harry's jeans between his teeth and tugged him toward the door.

'All right, I get the message,' he told the dog, and Fang released him at once. Harry opened the door, and Fang went galumphing across the snow and into the Forbidden Forest. He followed Fang through the trees with difficulty; the snow was thick. There were no footprints, either. Whoever had taken Hagrid must have done so quite a while ago, Harry realized.

After about fifteen minutes of wandering, Harry and Fang arrived at a wide pit in the middle of the forest.

'Harry!' shouted Hagrid from within the pit. He waved, and Harry waved back. Grawp was in the pit as well, and Harry realized just how deep it was – at least three times Grawp's height.

'I'll get you out!' he said. It was a simple matter for anyone with a wand to levitate Hagrid and Grawp out, and soon they were back on top of the ground instead of within it.

'Thanks,' said Hagrid sincerely. He rolled up his sleeves and, with a snarl, said, 'Let me at 'em! Where are they?! Kept me down there for weeks, those bloody…'

Harry shook his head. 'I haven't seen anyone around except the Death Eater in the cottage pretending to be you.'

'What?!' Hagrid looked furious at this. 'They came, an' I fought 'em, but there were too many of 'em. They threw me down in this pit, and Grawp, dear fellow that he is, jumped right in after me, but he couldn't get out, 'o course.'

'Did they take anything from you? Hair, maybe?' asked Harry.

He patted his head. 'They tore out a chunk o' my hair before they left me.'

'Then the impostor has been using Polyjuice Potion,' explained Harry. 'How did you survive down there for weeks, anyway?'

'Death Eaters fed me. They only gave me enough food for myself – s'pect they wanted to watch Grawp starve to death an' laugh – but we shared.'

Hagrid's stomach growled in a timely manner.

'How often did they feed you?'

The half-giant scowled bitterly. 'They throw a meal down in the morning and one at night. Not civilized enough to feed a bloke at teatime.'

Since it was midday, Harry wasn't likely to encounter any more Death Eaters in the forest. 'They wanted me to go to the cottage,' he reasoned out. 'I bet that Death Eater was supposed to alert others when I got there.'

By the time they'd returned to the cottage, the Death Eater was gone. Curiously, the ropes hadn't been dispelled; they were lying on the floor.

Harry could have kicked himself for not being more careful. 'He must've changed back while we were gone! When he did, the ropes wouldn't have been tight enough to hold him anymore!'

He turned to Hagrid. The poor man was filthy and tired, but he couldn't stay in the cottage – Voldemort would surely kill him. 'You need to leave,' insisted Harry.

Hagrid shook his head as though insulted by the idea. 'I've lived here all m'life, and –'

'Please, Hagrid!' Harry begged. 'I _know_, but in this case it's better to live to fight another day! Go to the Order in Grimmauld Place; they could use your help! It's what Dumbledore would want.'

He knew that was a cheap shot, and it seemed that Hagrid knew it too, for he looked momentarily furious. But then he relaxed, and in a resigned voice, he muttered, 'Yer probably right. Come on then.'

'I can't go with you. I need to get into Hogwarts. I'll leave as soon as I can, I promise – and then I'll return to Grimmauld Place.'

* * *

The halls of Hogwarts were as cold as the outdoors. Harry found himself talking aloud to the bag he was carrying just to fill the unearthly silence.

'Almost there,' he told it. 'I wonder where the ghosts are? Nick? _Peeves?_'

Even the ghosts had abandoned the school, it seemed – or maybe they were in hiding.

He didn't run into any Death Eaters along the way to the Headmaster's office. When he reached the door, he found he didn't have to worry about breaking in; it was hanging open brokenly. The gargoyles were motionless.

Harry was disturbed by the sight; it felt like the magic of Hogwarts was slowly and inexorably drifting away without life to sustain it.

He ascended the stairs and entered the office unopposed. It was empty but for the few belongings McGonagall had left there, and not a single Headmaster or Headmistress occupied his or her portrait in the room – not even Dumbledore.

It hadn't occurred to Harry that Dumbledore would be anywhere else but at Hogwarts. But he was a famous wizard with many portraits to choose from – why would he stay in the abandoned school?

He felt foolish for having come to Hogwarts; he'd only succeeded in drawing Voldemort's attention, which was the last thing he wanted. There was no telling when he'd arrive.

But Harry needed Dumbledore's advice very, very badly. He was willing to risk a short wait, just in case the portrait's occupant decided to check in. After all, Albus Dumbledore had loved Hogwarts; even in its present state of emptiness, he was sure to return.

There was only one chair remaining in the office – the one behind the desk, where Dumbledore had once sat – so Harry took it. He felt self-conscious, as if he wasn't meant to sit there.

At first he wasn't sure what he ought to do to pass the time. Doing nothing would only put him on edge, causing him to interpret every creak and rustle as a sign of Voldemort's arrival. Luckily, he had something with him that needed attending to, and there was no time like the present.

Harry set the bag down on the floor by his feet. Before his fingers had even touched the buckles, he could feel the simulacrum forming above his head in anticipation.

Her ever-present smile was comforting to him; he liked that some things hadn't changed. _She_ didn't know or care what had occurred with Voldemort.

'Hello, mum.'

'Hello.'

He wasn't sure where to go from there. 'I've got a problem. I'm hoping you can help. We spoke before about defeating Voldemort.'

Her eyes lit up as they had before when he'd mentioned Horcruxes, and her smile grew more genuine. 'Yes, I remember that.'

'My friend Ginny has been possessed by him. It's really very urgent that I learn anything you have to offer about his weaknesses.'

She nodded, but seemed to be waiting for something.

'Please?' he asked.

She sighed. 'You haven't told me what you would do with that information.'

'Yes, I have,' he said with irritation. 'I'll use it to defeat Voldemort.'

'Defeat him how?'

Harry recalled that this line of questioning had come up before – and he'd failed with it entirely. What had he replied before? _By destroying his Horcruxes and then killing him_. That had seemed like the way before, but it was useless now.

'Voldemort doesn't have any more Horcruxes,' he said thoughtfully more to himself than to his mother's simulacrum. 'Now he's using his connection with me to resurrect over and over…but…'

Emotion welled momentarily inside him, but it faded before he could feel it entirely. He growled in frustration, and the simulacrum looked at him questioningly.

'I…I can't _feel_ like I did before,' he told her, staring at the ground in shame before his eyes rose to meet hers. There was a sadness there that he'd never seen before. 'He's taken part of my soul from me…'

She looked at him, and he thought he saw worry in her eyes. That wasn't possible, was it?

The world suddenly blinked in front of him into something entirely new. He was outside in a barren landscape that reminded him of the sprawling, naked wilderness outside Will's cottage. But instead of winter, it seemed to be fall; brownish-red leaves were blowing rapidly off the trees, and the long blades of grass were a golden yellow, burnt by the sun.

His eyes fell to his feet; he was on a gravel path. It was narrow and ruler-straight, and it shot across the ground into a forest.

The forest sent a shiver down Harry's spine. It wasn't cold or stormy or filled with frightening sounds: it was dead. Brittle branches cracked off the black, leafless trees, and there wasn't an animal to be seen.

The sky darkened over it; just gazing into the dead forest seemed to accelerate the pace of the leaves' falling around him. When the last leaf fell off the tree closest to the forest, the forest seemed to absorb it into its unreflecting darkness.

It was coming closer to him. Where was he?

The answer came to him as though it were whispered in his ear by the wind. _It's my heart, _he realized, stunned.

Someone walked past him. The robed figure walked down the path, and Harry wanted to warn it to stop before the darkness engulfed it, but his mouth refused to form the words, as if he were in conspiracy with the forest to swallow the figure whole.

The figure stopped halfway down the path, and it turned to him. It was only then that he recognized it as his mother.

She smiled back at him so genuinely that it felt like she'd reached into his chest and pumped his dying heart back to life. As soon as that thought came to him, she started to walk again – but instead of following the straight path to the forest, she carved her own through the grass.

Slowly she faded away, and Harry was left with sadness; it was as if he'd lost her all over again.

But there was a new path now where once there had been none. It was bright, and it seemed like the obvious way to go now. The path was steeper and rockier than the way to the forest, but Harry felt sure that the reward at the end of it would be great.

As he took his first step onto the new path, the world dropped away, and he was back in Dumbledore's office. He frowned for a moment, wondering what the vision had meant; the answer came quickly, as though he were only remembering something he'd forgotten.

Harry refused to become, like Voldemort, a creature incapable of love. His mother's sacrifice had allowed him to take a different route, even without his full soul. While feelings did not come naturally to him anymore, he made, at that very moment, a conscious decision to fight for them.

'Thank you,' he told the simulacrum, sure that the vision had come from it – but it watched him with an unsure, puzzled expression.

A dam within Harry had broken, and he was left feeling more at peace than he had since before the battle. At the same time, he was finally able to accept the horrible choice that stood before him.

'I don't want to kill Ginny,' he told her. 'Voldemort killed her, and he's in her body now…but part of me feels like she's not really dead, like there's still some way to save her. I want to defeat Voldemort, but I don't want to kill him, even if I could. Is it even possible to defeat him without killing him?'

He looked up at her pleadingly, and was taken aback when her complexion was suffused by a warm golden glow.

'That is what I needed to hear,' she told him, beaming. 'I never wanted to kill him, Harry. Murder is wrong in any form.

'I can't guarantee that what I have to say will be of worth to you now – but here is my story.'

* * *

It was exactly like falling into a Pensieve.

Harry stood in an unfamiliar kitchen of an unfamiliar apartment. He knew enough about décor from living with Aunt Petunia to know that she'd never have approved of the place; the cupboards looked cheap, the walls were covered with green, duck-patterned wallpaper, and there were a couple days' worth of dirty dishes in the sink.

From the kitchen, he could hear the door open and close. A quick set of footsteps walked toward him, and Harry came face to face with his mother.

She didn't see him, and he wasn't surprised. She threw her cloak onto a nearby chair and waved her wand toward the kettle to make tea. Harry was struck by how young she looked; she was very close to his age.

Lily Potter – no, Evans, she seemed too young to have married his dad yet – kicked off her heels and waited for the tea to be made. When he looked at her closer, he could tell by her sunken expression that she was very tired. Harry realized how late it was; the clock (which wasn't hanging where it was supposed to be and didn't go well enough with the décor to meet Petunia's exacting standards) claimed that it was nearly eleven.

Lily sipped her tea, looking tiredly pleased. The lights went out without warning, and her tea cup clattered ominously as she set it down carelessly on the table.

When her wand lit the room, someone new was in it – someone with a terrifying, snakelike face.

His mother shrieked in surprise, and a beam of green light narrowly missed her. He was frustrated by the lack of light; without shoes on, her feet made hardly any noise on the floor. Voldemort didn't seem to be moving at all.

'Come out, Lily Evans,' he commanded. His wand lit a narrow area of the room; he aimed it from side to side, but she wasn't there. Harry got a better look at him; he wasn't as disfigured as he had been in the present, before Ginny's possession, which Harry supposed was due to him having fewer Horcruxes at the time. His face not so inhumanly thin, and his skin was less whitened.

'There is no escaping me. Your colleague gave away your involvement in the Dementor project before he died; you will suffer the same fate tonight. If you refrain from wasting my time, your death will be swift and painless.'

Unsurprisingly, his mother didn't reenter the kitchen.

'Apparition won't work,' he declared loudly, taking his first steps from the room. 'No one has escaped me alive. You should be honoured to be judged worthy of my personal attention.'

'Yeah right,' muttered Harry, his words going unheard.

Voldemort abruptly turned, and Harry was shocked to see his mother hit by the Killing Curse. The bored expression on Voldemort's face turned to incredulity as the image he had hit dissipated in a burst of light, and Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

_There's no need for me to worry, _he told himself. He knew this wasn't the time and place of his mother's death. The real question was: how could she possibly escape?

'Interesting,' Voldemort commented. He continued moving through the apartment. With a sinking feeling, Harry realized that it was very small; his mother didn't have many places to hide.

But Voldemort didn't seem interested in searching the place for her. He stopped in the living room and lit a magical fire that spread in seconds to encompass the entire apartment.

The flames crackled around him and cast twisted shadows upon his face. 'Come out, Lily.'

In an instant, he was surrounded by five images of Lily. His eyes swept over them, alarmed; whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this. He shot at the image in front of him, and it dissipated just as the one from before had. By the time he managed to direct a hex at another, one of the others – the real Lily, apparently – cast a spell of her own.

Harry smiled; he recognized the spell as one that was not blocked by a standard Shield Charm or other common protections.

Yet he was dismayed when it was effortlessly absorbed by Voldemort's protections. But by the time he could cast another spell at her, the images had switched; another of Lily's charmed doubles scattered into magic dust when it was struck by his curse.

Harry's Defence Against the Dark Arts training kicked in, and he observed that Voldemort had picked a truly terrible place for this kind of battle. The small space left him little room for manoeuvring; the doubles were so close that he was nearly bumping into them every time he turned. Obviously he had expected his first Killing Curse to hit home; an extended battle with a defence-minded opponent like Harry's mother was sure to take a while under these conditions.

It seemed like Voldemort was coming to the same conclusion; he abruptly changed his tactics by backing up to the wall (the flames parting to permit his passage) and quickly making eye contact with each of the doubles.

_Legilimency_, Harry realized uneasily.

His fear became reality; Voldemort was easily able to see which Lily was real, since none of the images had minds, and thus his quick attempts at Legilimency simply passed through the fakes.

Revelling in his discovery, he turned and blocked a spell from the real Lily in the nick of time. He raised his wand against her, and Harry knew his mother's trick wouldn't work again – so did she, apparently, for her mouth dropped in panic.

Then he realized that wasn't the reason for her reaction at all.

'Look out!' she cried, pointing above Voldemort.

Voldemort looked up and gaped in surprise. Either he hadn't expected the fire to chew through the building so quickly (perhaps forgetting that it was a Muggle apartment without any magical wards against fire) or he hadn't intended to stay as long as he had – perhaps both.

While he was protected against the fire, he wasn't protected against heavy beams dropping on him from the ceiling – and one was about to fall right on top of him.

He raised his wand, and the beam bounced ineffectually off his hastily-constructed barrier. _You have an opening! _he realized, willing his mother to realize it too. Then he looked in her eyes and saw that she _did _realize it – and she was already muttering a silent spell.

Before it was complete, the floor collapsed; Lily, Voldemort, and even Harry fell through it, and the images around him faded to black. The simulacrum appeared beside him.

'You saved his life,' said Harry in total disbelief. He thought of all the trouble that could have been saved if she'd just let the damn beam fall on him – he'd caused it himself! It wasn't even murder!

'He was surprised too,' she said. 'He knew that he owed me his life.'

'Why did you do it?' he couldn't help but ask.

'I don't know.' She sounded honestly perplexed by her own actions. 'It just happened. It seemed right. It was fate, perhaps.'

She disappeared, and the scene changed to a ritzy restaurant. Harry peeked out the window and tried to recognize the location; he thought it was probably in London, but he couldn't be sure.

In contrast to the busy streets, the restaurant was empty. Someone outside tried to pull the door, but it wouldn't budge; the person beside them pointed out the "closed" sign, and the pair walked away – though woman who had approached the door shot an odd glance at Harry's mum, who was sitting in the restaurant alone, a glass of wine in her hand and her dinner eaten.

A man swooped in from nowhere and took the seat across from her at the table; she eyed him warily. His face was covered by a standard Death Eater mask.

'Did you enjoy your meal?' the man asked. 'This restaurant is the Dark Lord's favourite.'

'It was delicious – but what have you abducted me for? If he wants to kill me, he needn't feed me first.'

'He doesn't want to kill you. He wants you to join us.'

Harry immediately realized who the voice belonged to: the man behind the mask was Severus Snape. A small piece of his curtain of hair slipped in front of his hood to confirm it.

She replied with incredulity, 'I'm a Muggle-born!'

'He doesn't care about that!' Snape told her. The earnestness of his tone seemed to quell her doubts. 'He's willing to make an exception for you. Somehow you've earned his trust – that is a very rare honour for anyone, Lily.'

'Well, that's very flattering, but I have no good reason to betray my friends and family,' she responded politely but firmly.

It was Snape's turn to be incredulous, as if he'd actually expected Lily to take up the offer. 'Isn't being on the winning team inducement enough?'

'No.' Harry was struck by the fact that she didn't deny that Voldemort's team was the winning one. 'Are you supposed to kill me if I refuse him?'

Snape visibly jumped a little in his chair. 'I…no, no…'

'Could you possibly answer a question for me, then?'

There was something in Lily's eyes, a curious gleam when she looked at Snape, that made Harry sure that she recognized him. He found it odd that she hadn't called him by name yet, but then he realized, as his mother must, that he'd probably have to Obliviate her if he was sure that she knew who he was.

'I…I suppose…' Snape hadn't gotten over being flabbergasted at Lily's refusal yet.

A serious expression fell over her face. 'What's wrong with him?'

'…What?'

'I mean that he doesn't look normal, and it isn't just an illusion. That's how he really looks, isn't it? And there's something…missing…in his eyes…it's as though there's no emotion left in them but hatred. Something's broken inside him. Surely you've noticed. What's wrong with him?'

In a low hiss, Snape insisted, 'Don't say such things! Do you have the slightest idea what you're driving at?'

'No; that's why I'm asking you.'

He shook his head and pushed out his chair. 'I can't answer that.'

She smiled kindly at him, not pushing any further. 'Then I suppose I should go.'

He didn't seem prepared for her to drop the question, for he paused and then carefully said, 'Yes, well. The Dark Lord won't be pleased by your refusal.'

'I suppose not. I should get home. Send him my thanks for the dinner, won't you? It really was very good.'

'Right.' Snape rose from his chair as Lily grabbed her purse, and Harry was sure that the strangeness of him helping her with her cloak would never be burned from his eyes. 'Well…I guess I'll be seeing you, then.' The words were spoken with reluctance; they both had to know that they weren't likely to meet on such friendly terms again.

As she walked toward the door, Snape looked hamstrung. 'Lily!' he called as her hand fell on the knob.

She turned. 'Yes?'

Something in Snape was tensing, ready to snap.

'…Horcrux.'

She frowned at the foreign word. 'What?'

But Snape was already gone.

The restaurant faded out, and Lily's simulacrum returned. Harry couldn't believe what he'd seen. 'You found out about Horcruxes then? From _Snape_?'

'Yes.'

'I don't get it,' he declared, thinking about Snape. Whose side was he on?

_He tried to warn me, _remembered Harry for the first time, feeling sick at the thought. _He knew…but then why did he take me to Voldemort? If he's not on his side, and he knew what would happen…why did he do it?_

He shook thoughts of Snape from his brain. The man was too complicated, he decided. All Harry knew was that he couldn't be trusted.

'I looked up the word through every legitimate source I could find. Eventually I discovered from whom it had originated, and I went to her to find out more.'

'Boudica,' Harry finished. 'Yes, I met her.' He frowned thoughtfully. 'How did you get past the barrier?' He supposed it didn't matter now, but he couldn't imagine his mum sacrificing a Muggle to get through. Harry had Hermione on his side, but his mother seemed to have been working alone.

Her answer was simple; as she gave it, the world around Harry shifted again.

'Regulus Black.'


	28. Lily's Legacy

**A/N: **Thanks for your enthusiastic reviews! I won't keep you waiting any longer - here's the next chapter! It's almost not depressing at all - I manage to keep the death toll down to a grand total of one (well, two, kind of)._**  
**_

_**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Lily's Legacy**_

It was a warm summer evening, but King's Cross station was not very busy. Harry couldn't locate his mother at first; he was so used to seeing her in wizarding robes that he initially looked past her in her Muggle clothing. She was wearing a casual red dress, but, upon closer inspection, Harry could see the end of her wand poking out of her handbag.

Whenever the Muggles weren't looking, she would quickly draw her wand and cast a spell at the barrier of platform nine and three quarters. After each spell, a look of stubborn frustration passed over her face.

Harry understood what she was trying to do: reach Boudica. But whatever she was trying, it didn't work.

It was during one of the times that her wand was stashed in her bag that a hooded man passed through the barrier. He glanced around quickly and grabbed the person closest to the platform: Harry's mum.

Her brief cry of protest caught some people's attention, but when they looked, no one was there.

Harry was drawn through the platform shortly after his mother. The hooded figure had released her arm and was looking around in confusion.

'What's the big idea?' she demanded. She drew her wand and pointed it at him; the hooded man, realizing he was in trouble, threw up his arms.

'I'm sorry! I thought you were a Muggle!' he protested.

'Take off your hood!' she ordered.

The man did so, and Harry was faced with someone who was immediately recognizable. He had Sirius's handsome looks, though not in as great a quantity as his elder brother (for Harry was already certain that this was Regulus Black). His shiny dark hair fell to his shoulder, and his bangs were so long that they nearly covered his eyes. Harry thought he might even be taller than Sirius; he towered over Harry's mother, who barely reached his shoulder.

Lily also seemed to also catch the resemblance. 'Do I know you from somewhere?' she asked. Then, before she could answer, she exclaimed, 'Regulus!'

He huffed in annoyance. 'Yes, can I go now? Like I said, I didn't mean to grab _you_.'

'How have you been?'

Harry was already noticing his mother's habit of asking after everyone's well-being, even people she wasn't overly friendly with. And unlike those people who did it just for the sake of politeness, the kind look in her eyes told him that she actually _cared_.

'Fine, fine,' he said impatiently. 'Look, I'm sorry, I'll just be going now –'

'Wait,' she insisted, prodding him with her wand to make sure he did just that. 'Why would you want to pull a Muggle through the barrier?'

'Just for laughs,' he answered acidly, glaring down his nose at Lily. 'It's none of your business anyway. Do you think you're an Auror or something?'

She didn't bother to answer; instead, she examined him with undisguised disbelief and curiosity.

'I'll let you go in a minute,' she told him, perhaps realizing, as Harry did, that he was probably going to try disarming her soon; he was obviously adjusting his grip on his wand as he held it above his head. 'I just want to know one thing first, since it's an awful coincidence meeting you here…you wouldn't happen to know what a Horcrux –'

His eyes went wide as saucers in terror, and his hand moved swiftly down to cover her mouth. 'Don't say the word!' he clamoured. 'How the bloody hell would _you_ know about that?'

She gripped his wrist and pulled his hand forcefully from her mouth. 'I've been researching them,' she replied calmly; Harry knew he'd personally have taken a swing at Regulus by this point, and he inwardly commended her unflappable nature. 'You're here for the same reason I am, aren't you?'

He had a very sour look on his face. Lily lowered her wand in a show of trust that Harry thought was ill-advised, but surprisingly, Regulus just lowered his arms and sighed in defeat.

'Yes, you're right. Happy?'

'Why did you want to –'

Harry was sure she was about to ask why he'd tried to drag a Muggle through the barrier, but as she asked the question, she seemed to come to the answer on her own.

'Oh, I see,' she declared. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. 'You do realize that the Muggle probably wouldn't survive, don't you?' She gave him a lightly reprimanding look, likely remembering that shewas supposed to have been the Muggle in question.

Regulus shrugged, clearly not caring one way or the other.

'That isn't very nice,' she scolded. 'I'm sure there's another way. We'll work together.'

'Oh really?' Regulus snorted sceptically. 'Why would I want to work with you?'

'We share the same goal, and I have sometimes been described as clever.' There seemed to be a hidden meaning in those words, and Regulus flushed. It made Harry think that perhaps Regulus had _not_ been considered a particularly intelligent man.

'Fine, but we can't get in to see the witch without bending your precious moral rules,' he told her disdainfully. 'She requires a Muggle sacrifice.'

Lily thought it over briefly and came to the same conclusion Hermione had.

Regulus glared incredulously. 'I don't have time to wait for you to brew a stupid potion!'

'I'm sure it could be purchased in one of the less-savoury apothecaries,' she noted gently.

Then Lily managed to point out that Regulus's family was heavily associated with the Dark arts and other illegal activities without making it seem like an insult. 'Perhaps you could get some? I'd go, but your family is received better than I am, with your ancient and noble history.'

He pouted in annoyance, and Harry realized that Regulus looked even younger than Lily – he wondered if he'd even graduated from Hogwarts yet. 'Fine, wait here – but if I can't find any, we're doing this my way.'

He Apparated away, and Lily settled on a bench to wait for him. She drew a book out of her bag and stared at it intently, scribbling down the odd note; Harry realized that it was the notebook that had appeared on his bed with the details on how to create the Dementor net.

_She must've been refining the research, _he realized. So Harry's mother was searching for information on Horcruxes, and in her spare time she was figuring out how to incapacitate Dementors. He couldn't help but smile a little.

Harry's eyes fell upon a clock hung on the station wall. It moved with unnatural speed – one hour and then another went by before Regulus returned.

Lily shut her notebook and looked up at him brightly; he held a familiar-looking potion in a vial.

'Here.' He shoved it toward her. As Lily uncorked it, he muttered, 'If I were you, I wouldn't drink it.'

'Why not?'

He fixed her with an exasperated expression. 'Because I wouldn't trust _you_ to keep me alive in there.'

This just made Lily smile ruefully. 'Well, I trust you – I know you don't like me, but you wouldn't want James and your brother to find out that you were responsible for my death.'

It seemed like this hadn't occurred to Regulus before; he looked like he was choking on something and grabbed her arm before she could drink the potion. 'Are you sure about this?'

He sounded very young and anxious. Lily smiled reassuringly. 'Don't worry. I trust you. You're a capable wizard.' She laughed a little. 'I still remember that hex you put on your brother last year. It was really very good.'

As if she were telling him a secret, she added in a low voice, 'And truthfully, he _did _deserve it – he often does!'

Regulus seemed to swell with pride, but then he scowled as if remembering that he wasn't supposed to care about a compliment from a Mudblood.

Lily drank the potion and grabbed Regulus's hand. He blushed and stammered, 'I'm not sure if this'll work.'

'Don't worry,' she told him. 'I _know_ it will.'

The scene ended.

'I learned everything there was to know about Horcruxes,' said the simulacrum. 'I knew enough to create one, but that isn't what I wanted.'

'You wanted to destroy them,' he finished. Harry was surprise when the simulacrum shook her head in fierce disagreement. He was frustrated; he just didn't understand what his mother could have been thinking.

'What, then? What was the point of learning about Horcruxes if you didn't want to make one or destroy his?'

'I wanted to save him.'

Harry was astounded. 'What?'

Her lips turned downward into a sad, beseeching look. 'Once I learned what a Horcrux was, I realized what a horrific situation Lord Voldemort had placed himself in. Imagine: if all his Horcruxes were destroyed, and he were killed, what would happen to him next?'

Harry didn't respond; he didn't have the slightest idea. '_Think_,' she insisted. 'Where do souls end up when they die?'

'I don't know,' he answered automatically, but then an image came to mind from years ago – and he remembered that his mother had been an Unspeakable.

'The Veil.'

The veil-covered archway in the Department of Mysteries…the one Sirius had fallen through and never escaped…

She nodded solemnly. 'That is the gateway through which souls pass after death. But what would become of someone with a broken soul, Harry? Souls can pass through the archway torn by the crimes they've committed in life, but if their crimes against others – against themselves – are so great that they have been ripped apart, there can be no healing for them, not even in death.'

'I don't understand. You…you wanted to fix his soul?'

A glimmer of hope blossomed in Harry's chest. If she'd found a way to fix Voldemort's soul, then maybe Harry's could be fixed, too.

'That became my goal after speaking with Boudica. She told me of how young he had been when he'd made his choice; it was a rash decision made by a mentally unsound youth.

'I couldn't hate him. He didn't deserve the fate he'd brought upon himself. After his first Horcrux had been made, his soul could no longer grow in wisdom – he could not rise above his base nature. He was trapped forever by a childhood fear of death that transformed him into a creature of hatred and evil.'

Harry couldn't bring himself to agree. 'But he's done so many horrible things, Mum! He's killed countless others – and you and Dad! He doesn't care about them or _their_ lives or _their_ souls! Why should you – or I – care about what happens to _him_?!'

She reminded him of Dumbledore with her wise smile. 'You may have trouble feeling that way yourself, especially given what you have suffered. But you could not have come this far without a good heart. Condemning a man to eternal suffering for acts borne from his own fear and pain is not right. I couldn't let it happen.'

'What did you do?' he asked her.

'I needed to find his Horcruxes. It was not easy; it took me over a year to determine a way to divine their locations.'

* * *

Lily's figure was hidden by her heavy fur robes as she struggled through a heavy storm. Snow fell from the sky only to be caught in winds that swirled sideways and blew it into her face; she fought to keep her hood up but soon gave in and allowed the snow to catch in her hair and the freezing cold to redden her cheeks.

Harry followed her, untouched by the weather, wondering what she could possibly be doing outside on a day like this.

_It was the only day for the ritual to work, _a voice in his head informed him. _The first snowfall of the season is always magic._

It was with impressive effort that Lily managed to reach her destination. Once there, she threw her bag – the familiar one in which the simulacrum resided, but which seemed to be an ordinary satchel at the moment – onto the ground.

He watched her with intense curiosity as she took out several candles and placed them in a circle around her. Then she took out a few handfuls of small vials, each of which contained a powder, a liquid, an herb, or gelatinous goop.

With care, she combined each in a specific order, often stopping to hold her wand over the ingredients and softly chanting words that couldn't be heard over the storm.

When she was finished, she took off her boots and woolly socks and stood barefoot in the centre of the circle. Then she unbuttoned her winter robes and set them on the ground as well; she stood wearing only a light white robe underneath that bared much of her arms and legs to the frigid cold.

Lily bent down and searched for something in the pockets of her discarded winter robes, soon withdrawing a sharp knife. She stood up, and Harry watched uneasily as she held the knife, bit her lip hard, and made a swift cut down the length of her arm. Her expression steeled against the pain, she did the same to the other arm.

The knife dropped from her hand. With both her arms bleeding in streams onto the ground, turning the snow at her feet a deep red, she shouted something to the sky. Then, seemingly satisfied with the amount of blood spilled, she raised one arm and used it to point her wand at the pile of ingredients. Golden sparkles drifted down onto the mixture as she continued to chant.

A purple-grey cloud emerged with a blast of wind that even the snowstorm couldn't match. It blew Lily's hair straight backwards, and she shut her eyes against it.

As the force of it lessened, Lily managed to squint at the images forming in the cloud. Harry watched as it showed, for a few moments, a blurry glimpse of a cave by the sea – the cave in which Slytherin's locket had been hidden, he realized.

The energy seemed to drain out of Harry's mother; she fell forward onto her knees, and in that instant, the cloud snapped into a beacon of white light that blazed through the night sky much like the Dark Mark.

The light dissipated, and the ritual ended.

With pure force of will, Lily made her body push itself up. Her shivering hands felt around for her boots first – the socks were a lost cause – and she slowly forced her blue feet into them.

As she reached for her robe, the storm stopped so suddenly that both Harry and his mother knew it wasn't a natural occurrence. An instant later, Voldemort appeared – he pressed her against a tree by the throat and snarled frighteningly.

'You bitch!'

He physically wrenched her wand from her hand and threw it several feet away. Lily whimpered once in surprise and fear, but afterward put on a brave face.

His eyes stared into hers with the intensity of a Legilimens, and whatever he saw there made him relax his hand on her throat enough for her to breathe. 'How dare you meddle in my affairs!'

'I've done nothing to you,' she answered evenly.

She shuddered from the cold, but perhaps Voldemort saw it as a sign of terror, for he took unusual pity and pulled his hand free of her throat completely.

'What other use could you have for such a spell? I know you are trying to find a way to weaken me, even after I graciously spared your worthless life! Do you deny it?'

She lifted her chin proudly. 'I do deny it. I have no intention of causing you any harm.'

He stared into her eyes again, and she stared right back, showing him everything he wanted to see. Harry knew that she had no reason to hold back: she was telling the truth.

Voldemort soon reached the same conclusion, though without knowing what Harry knew about her true goals, he couldn't hide his perplexity. 'You're an Occlumens,' he accused, though he didn't sound as though he believed it himself.

She shook her head, and he seemed to accept that as truth even without confirming it through Legilimency. Harry's mother wouldn't have been any better at Occlumency than he was.

'I can't let you live,' Voldemort said with a note of regret. 'You know far too much. Such a pity…'

He pointed his wand at her; he was so close that the tip was a hair's breadth from her stomach. '_Avada Kedavra!_'

Voldemort's wand didn't even fizzle. He held it up in front of his face and examined it with a deeply perturbed frown.

Lily's eyes commanded his attention. With a gentle expression, she softly spoke, 'You have to want that spell to work.'

His lower lip trembled ever so slightly. Harry, who had seen Voldemort look both triumphant and hateful, had never seen him with anything close to the expression on his face. It was a mixture of agitation and awe.

Harry wondered if he'd ever not wanted to kill someone before.

The moment ended, and Voldemort glared at her resentfully. 'I will spare you,' he proclaimed. 'Do not expect to benefit from my generosity again –'

'LET HER GO!!'

Harry, shocked, turned around. His father's voice had carried from so far off that he was barely a speck – but a rapidly approaching speck. He couldn't help but think that his father was a little stupid to have alerted his enemy so blatantly of his arrival, though to be fair, he probably had a lot less combat experience than Harry.

He also couldn't help thinking that his father had arrived at the worst possible moment.

When James Potter arrived on the scene, he saw his wife's winter robes lying in a heap on the ground and drew his own conclusions. If he'd been fired up for a fight before, he was now possessed with whole-hearted outrage.

'YOU SON OF A BITCH! I'LL KILL YOU!'

Voldemort rolled his eyes sardonically and blocked James's opening volley with insulting ease.

Lily gasped. 'James, no!'

Voldemort lost whatever frayed patience he'd had left. '_Avada Kedavra!_'

James leaped from the snow and dodged the curse.

'_Avada Kedavra!_' he tried again.

But James rolled, and the curse missed by a couple of inches. He cast a silent hex at Voldemort that bounced off his spell wards.

'Stop it!' Lily begged. She tried to move toward her wand, but Voldemort shoved her to the ground.

'_Avada Kedavra!_'

James managed to avoid the third attempt on his life with a short-distance Apparition that landed him next to Lily.

'This is irritating,' muttered Voldemort with a glare; if looks could kill, James's corpse would have been roasting on the ground.

_Oh boy, _thought Harry dryly, willing his dad to take the wise course of action and Apparate away with his mum. Unsurprisingly, that wasn't what James chose to do.

'Meddle with my wife, will you?!'

James shot a small fireball at him; Voldemort merely sidestepped the spell. He picked at the corner of his robes and grimaced at the singed hem.

Lily's apparent embarrassment at the situation seemed to put him in a moderately better mood, for he chuckled and said, 'Very well, your wife shall keep her honour.'

Lily threw him a less than appreciative look for that bit of innuendo. He bowed mockingly and loudly Apparated away.

Harry only caught a glimpse of the snowstorm's return before the scene drew to a close.

'It took three months to find the cave,' the simulacrum told him matter-of-factly, as though it were unaffected by the scene he'd just witnessed – which, he supposed, it probably was.

He found himself outside the mouth of the cave and felt some disappointment when he saw his mother and Regulus Black walking away from it. He'd have liked to see how they got past Voldemort's defences – but he abruptly remembered that he didn't have a limitless amount of time to stroll down memory lane.

They were both drenched and stumbled their way forward as if they would pass out from exhaustion at any moment. Lily had her brown satchel slung over her shoulder and was dragging behind Regulus.

Harry noticed that her belly was significantly larger than the last time he'd seen her; she was pregnant. He counted the months and realized that she had definitely been pregnant with him in the previous scene as well.

When they were a good distance from the cave, Regulus turned to her, and Harry scowled when he saw his wand was directed at Lily. 'Right – hand it over.'

She smiled tiredly. 'I suppose that this is where our intentions diverge,' she commented pertly with as much energy as she could muster.

Her complete lack of surprise seemed to set Regulus on edge. 'Hand it over, Mu – Lily,' he insisted.

'At least you've learned my name,' she said, the bag falling off her shoulder. She got to her knees (slowly, given her condition) and dug the Horcrux out – but before she withdrew it completely from the bag, she mouthed something over the locket. A black mist whispered over it for a fraction of a second and fell into the bag.

She smiled.

'Hurry up!' he demanded.

Lily produced the locket. She walked over and handed it to him; Regulus, unable to look her in the eye, blandly said, 'Thanks for the help.'

She looked at him sadly. 'How long?'

Harry didn't understand, but apparently Regulus did. 'Not long – but long enough for me to destroy it.'

'Are you certain that it's worth it, to die for revenge?'

He stared down at the locket like a lost child. 'There's nothing else left for me to die for.'

They parted ways, and Harry found himself back in the Headmaster's office of Hogwarts. The simulacrum, badly faded, floated before him expectantly.

'What did you do to the Horcrux?' he asked.

'By the time Regulus and I found the Horcrux, I'd had a lot of time to plan what I would do,' she explained. 'I knew that Regulus would betray me in the end. He wanted revenge – that was the only victory he could hope for before death. He had too much heart to be a Death Eater, but he knew he could never escape them.'

'I knew I'd have the Horcrux for only a short time.' It seemed as though the simulacrum only had a short time too; she was fading in and out. 'I created something to store a small fraction of it in – just the portion of his soul that bubbled on the surface, eager to escape its confines, for every soul longs for escape after too many years.'

'What good was that supposed to do?' Harry truly didn't understand what the point was in taking only part of the Horcrux.

'It's in the bag,' she stated. 'A small crystal. The crystal also contains the magic that powers my image. It has one single purpose: to absorb broken pieces of soul.'

'So it's a Horcrux destroyer?'

'No; it takes the soul from the Horcrux and stores it safely within. The small snatch of Voldemort's soul it has received has attuned it specifically to him; once a magical force has broken the bond of his soul to the object it's stored in, it can absorb it.

'Once all the pieces were absorbed, it was my hope to transfer them back to Voldemort's body. Then, were he to die, his soul pieces would be close enough to travel into the afterlife together, allowing him to become whole again.

'But there's a problem.'

Every second word she spoke was very faint now. 'What is it?' he asked, aware of the imminence of the simulacrum's demise.

'The crystal needs a lot of power to break the bonds of the Horcrux,' she told him. 'More than any one witch or wizard could possibly muster alone.'

That _was_ a problem, but…'There's an even bigger problem,' said Harry. 'All the Horcruxes are destroyed now.'

She smiled, and he knew she must already know the solution to that. 'A soul can never be destroyed, not even by magic. The pieces of his soul are already beyond the Veil. They must be retrieved.'

'That's impossible,' Harry informed her. 'No one can go beyond the Veil. Sirius did, and…'

'He died,' she finished. 'Of course; no living being can cross the Veil.' She looked at him meaningfully. 'No _living_ being.'

'No living being…' Harry repeated. His eyes widened as he understood her meaning. _I can't die_, he remembered.

What would happen if Harry crossed the Veil?

But his heart sunk as he realized the flaw that still remained in this solution. 'What…what about me?' he asked desperately. 'I still need to piece my own soul back together. Could another crystal be made?'

'Your soul and his are intertwined,' she told him firmly. 'Break the bond between you.'

'The bond is forged by _love_,' argued Harry, feeling increasingly hopeless. 'That's supposed to be the most powerful force there is. What could defeat it?'

She frowned and closed her eyes, fading from existence entirely.

'Hello?' he called.

She soon returned. 'I've checked my notes,' she told him. 'You're right; love is an all-powerful force, but…'

With a raised eyebrow, she added, 'Your love is not the only source of love in the world. There is a much stronger concentration elsewhere.'

Before Harry could ask where that was, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a creature tumbled into the room from out of nowhere.

'Harry Potter sir!'

It was Dobby. He was grubby, and his toes stuck out of his socks; his face seemed twice as wrinkled as the last time Harry had seen him. He was certainly worse for wear.

'You need to leave now!' Dobby insisted, his eyes even wider than usual with uncustomary panic. 'It's coming, and it's not a lady, sir! It killed the other house-elves who stayed at Hogwarts!'

_It's not a lady?_ Harry swallowed; he could only mean Ginny.

Voldemort had arrived. Harry was out of time. He hurriedly picked up the bag, not even waiting for the simulacrum to shut off, and found to his surprise that all its weight seemed to have been drained.

'And where do you think _you're_ going?'

The voice was sugary-sweet – but it wasn't Ginny.

He looked into the flinty, cruel eyes of Lily Potter, and his brain stopped working for several seconds.

'No!' cried Dobby, rolling up his short-sleeved tea-cosy. 'I won't let you hurt Harry Potter!'

_Is this a dream?_ Harry wondered. _Another vision? What could it mean?_

It was only when a green bolt of light pierced the air that Harry snapped out of his daze – but by then it was far too late.

Dobby, unaware of Harry's immortality, jumped in front of him. He fell to the ground, dead.

Harry said nothing at all, not even to decry the tragedy. He knew it wasn't a dream now, so he took up his wand, a crushing depression settling over him. This was nearly as awful as fighting Ginny.

'Hello baby-pie,' said his mother's voice in a cold inflection that his mother would never have used. Harry momentarily wondered if the spirit of Bellatrix Lestrange had been transplanted into his mother's body.

'Hello,' was all he could think to say at first. He stepped around Dobby's body and warily asked, 'Who are you, exactly? I know you're not really my mum.'

'She's a Horcrux.'

Harry's eyes lit upon Dumbledore, who watched him gravely from his portrait.

'I eliminated all the Horcruxes,' said Harry, who immediately stuck his attention back onto his mother. _No, she's not my mother,_ he realized. Horcrux or no Horcrux, Harry had just seen a lot of his mum, and she didn't move in the overtly sensual way this woman did, nor did she _ever_ sneer.

She didn't cackle, either, and that's precisely what the impostor did upon hearing Dumbledore's voice, though she was in the doorway and couldn't possibly see his portrait. 'We can all be undead together now!' she declared with twisted mirth.

'I've been watching her,' said Dumbledore seriously by way of explanation. 'Voldemort has not yet noticed my presence in a group portrait within the Minister for Magic's office. I have been gathering intelligence in the hope of finding someone reliable to relay it to.'

'Why is she here?' he asked.

'She is not particularly valued by him,' Dumbledore offered. 'I do not believe that she turned out as he intended, and her mind is gradually coming unglued. He does not like to be reminded of his failures, and she is getting on his nerves.'

'He'll be happy to see _you_ again, Harry-pudding,' the woman, whom Harry refused to think of as Lily ever again, declared.

He ignored her taunt. 'So you think she was sent here for me to finish her off for him?'

'I think it likely. Voldemort probably hopes that she can at least weaken you before he steps in. He is almost certainly nearby.'

The creature took another step into the room.

'If Voldemort wants it dead, I'm happy to be of service,' he said, glaring at the monster that dared to defile his mother's face with an evil smile.

'Yes, I also agree that she needs to go for the sake of all that is still right with the world, but perhaps you should take the advice of your mother's simulacrum and try the crystal.'

'What?' Harry looked up sharply at Dumbledore's portrait in surprise at how much it knew; it smiled down on him benignly.

And that was all Harry saw before he was smacked in the side by the Killing Curse.

When he rematerialized in the office, reborn again, Harry rubbed the place where he'd been cursed, feeling the ghost of a bruise still remaining.

Dumbledore tut-tutted at himself. 'Terribly sorry; I didn't mean to distract you. I should also apologize for eavesdropping on your previous conversation with your mother's simulacrum, but I'm afraid that I'm not really sorry, and being dead takes away any social incentive to pretend that I am.'

As Dumbledore spoke, Harry and the Horcrux circled the room, glaring nastily at each other.

'She said it needed a source of magical power,' Harry reminded him as he took a step to the side, keeping his back to the wall. 'One bigger than me.'

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't cast a spell while he was speaking, and the Horcrux knew it. She nearly managed to hit him with the Cruciatus Curse – and with all the cruelty he saw in her, Harry didn't doubt that she could keep him under it until Voldemort arrived to pick him up and take him away to his new life as a limbless wall hanging.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught a curiously pleased grin on the Headmaster's face.

'And Hogwarts is precisely the place to find one,' Dumbledore revealed.


	29. The Heart of Hogwarts

**A/N: **Thanks again to my beloved reviewers who kept me going, I managed to procrastinate on the stuff I'm supposed to be doing yet again to finish this chapter. I'm not sure if I'll manage to post another one before the real book comes out - I've got tons of Master's degree-related work to be done, and my advisor is sure to notice my total lack of productivity at some point :( - but I'll try my best._**  
**_

_**Ch**__**apter Twenty-Nine: The Heart of Hogwarts**_

Hogwarts.

Harry thought he understood. Hogwarts was the most magical place Harry had ever been. If anything could imbue his mother's crystal with enough magical energy to tear the soul from a Horcrux, Hogwarts could.

But how could he access that power?

_First thing's first,_ he decided. He needed to open the bag and find the crystal – but how would he have the time to do that with the Horcrux bearing down on him, killing him every time he drew his attention away from it?

'I need a distraction,' Harry told Dumbledore.

'Wait one moment.'

Dumbledore left his portrait, and Harry continued his deadly dance with the Horcrux. Spells were exchanged, but none did significant damage to either. It was frustrating to know that this battle was only meant to wear him down, and he knew it would work if things kept going as they were.

When Dumbledore reappeared, he said, 'A suitable distraction has been arranged.'

Harry wondered what that meant, but only a few seconds later, the answer came through the floor.

Never in his life had he been gladder to see Peeves.

'Oooh, a pretty-pretty,' cooed Peeves at the Horcrux. Lily's face regarded Peeves with curiosity.

Then he swooped down, picked up the wastepaper basket by the desk, and dropped it right onto her head, covering her eyes. She struggled to pull it off while Peeves tore books from the shelves and chucked them at her.

Harry grinned but didn't waste any of the precious time he had gained. 'Thanks sir – and you too, Peeves!' he called as he ran down the staircase. As he ran, Harry tore open the bag and awkwardly stuck his hand inside, feeling around for the crystal.

_Aha!_ he thought as his hand touched something smooth with sharp corners that fit in the palm of his hand. As soon as he withdrew it, he let the bag drop.

The unevenly-shaped crystal was mostly filled with a mist that reminded Harry of a black, rain-filled cloud – but there was a silvery-white spot in the centre.

Now that he'd found the crystal, he needed a _lot_ of magic.

'Harry!'

His head snapped to Dumbledore, who was moving spryly through the pictures in the hall, causing disgruntled gasps and shouts from the occupants he was shoving aside on his way.

With a twinkle in his painted eyes, Dumbledore said, 'Think! Which room will give you anything you need?'

Harry grinned broadly as he realized what he meant. 'The Room of Requirement!'

Dumbledore tipped his pointy hat, and Harry was off again.

As he turned the corner, an explosion blew Harry him off his feet. He tried to scramble to his feet and cringed at the painful burn running down his back, but the urgency of his situation gave him incentive enough to ignore the pain. He spared one glance for the large, smouldering hole in the wall he'd just turned by.

The Horcrux had apparently dealt with Peeves and was coming after him. Harry ran faster than he'd ever run in his life through the halls of Hogwarts, up the trick stairs, past paintings cheering him on.

His sneakers squealed as he came to an abrupt stop. He stood outside the room.

_I need magic, and lots of it! _he thought desperately. He was sure his eyes would burn a hole in the wall if he stared at it any harder.

The polished door with its brass handle appeared just as Harry turned and caught sight of the Horcrux stopped at the end of the hall chanting a spell.

He threw the door closed behind him just as the bolt zipped past him. Harry knew he didn't have to run anymore; the Horcrux didn't need to enter the room, so it wouldn't be able to.

All thoughts of the Horcrux – of _anything_ – left Harry's astonished mind as he looked about the room his thoughts had created.

It was full of light that seemed to be coming from all directions. In the middle was a vast, glowing ball of black and gold with strands of many-coloured light jumping about like fishes. As he stared at it, voices filed through his mind, one after the other.

'_Mr Kingsley, put that down at once!'__ demanded a stern teacher._

'_Slytherin!' the Sorting Hat shouted, and many voices cheered together._

'_Gotcher nose!' cried a boy in a thick Scottish accent._

'_Twenty points to Hufflepuff!'_

'_Look out, Snape's coming!'_

'_Wingardium Leviosa!'_

On and on it went. Visions flashed through Harry's mind of late students running to class, a Quaffle sweeping cleanly through a goal hoop, and rows of upper-years settled in for a long study session in the library. The order of the sounds and images wasn't sensible, but somehow they made sense taken together. Harry felt as though he were seeing, hearing, and _breathing_ the essence of everything that made Hogwarts so special in this very room.

In the cacophony, Harry thought he heard:

'_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,'_

He let it soak into his being, and he wished for several moments that he could stay there forever. Hogwarts, in moments pleasant and grim, dull and exciting, was his home, and he was so _tired_ of fighting. If Voldemort could just leave him here…

But then he remembered his duty, and he got on with the task at hand.

Now that he was paying attention, the crystal seemed to strain against Harry's palm, hungry for the teeming life of the castle. Hoping that he was doing the right thing, Harry threw it into the light and waited.

Something happened immediately. The sphere that was Hogwarts' heart shrunk like a dying star collapsing on itself. It ended too fast for Harry's liking; the last thing he heard, in a droning chorus, was:

'_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot.'_

When the crystal lay alone and the voices fell away, the room seemed grey, lonely, and much smaller than before. The crystal kept its dazzling light to itself, a single point of brightness in the room.

Harry picked it up – it was hot in his hands – and, with a loud creak, the door fell limply open. He saw the Horcrux's silhouette standing in the doorway.

_That's odd – how did she get in?_

'_I found you_,' the Horcrux declared in a sing-song voice. She raised her wand, but her gloating had taken her enough time to give Harry the advantage.

He quickly threw the crystal, which was rapidly becoming too hot to hold, into the air. '_Saggitare!_' he cried, hitting the crystal and directing it toward the Horcrux.

'Gugh!' she choked out as she was struck by the crystal. It lodged itself in her abdomen, and the smell of searing flesh filled Harry's nostrils. The Horcrux was immobilized; its glassy eyes stared past him lifelessly.

The burning started slowly, but within an instant, the Horcrux was engulfed in bright blue flames. It didn't seem to feel pain; it was a broken doll, and its head lolled to the side as the fire curled against her hair.

Within moments, Lily's bones scattered onto the floor. When Harry picked the crystal up again, it was cold, but the bright white spot inside was larger than before.

* * *

Voldemort's small foot kicked the satchel lying near the entrance to the Headmaster's office before he ascended. The office was a mess of books, papers, and chocolates thrown everywhere; the only things that remained in their proper places were the portraits of the Headmasters.

The Dark Lord ran Ginny's fingers nimbly over the edge of the desk. There was a look in his shining eyes that combined nostalgia with expectation; he was perhaps imagining what it would be like to be master of Hogwarts after his too-long absence.

'The desk is quite exceptional, isn't it?'

He snapped toward Dumbledore's portrait, looking as though he'd been unpleasantly interrupted.

Dumbledore looked past Voldemort and gave his old desk a fond sigh. 'Somehow there was always enough room for my stacks of correspondence. I swear that the desk grew to accommodate it, but it was always the same size every time I measured it.'

Voldemort appeared annoyed to the point of extreme disgust. 'How wonderful for you.'

'You will never have Hogwarts, Tom,' Dumbledore declared with a prescient sureness that stoked the Dark Lord's anger.

'Oh really?' he asked with an angry sneer. He walked behind the desk and sat down cosily in the Headmaster's chair, threading his fingers together. His malicious stare met Dumbledore's look of satisfaction. 'What do you call _this_, then?'

'Your single moment of perceived victory before your great fall,' the portrait responded, threading its fingers together in kind.

As if to confirm Dumbledore's words, the desk started to jiggle. The jiggle grew to a rumble that itself became a momentous earthquake; the piles of books, some perhaps lamenting that they hadn't been given the chance to fall momentously off their shelves, quivered violently on the floor.

'What are you doing?!' Voldemort shrieked in alarm, holding onto the desk.

'I'm doing nothing at all!' Dumbledore called loudly over the noise, laughing as though he were enjoying a rollercoaster ride. 'The magic that holds Hogwarts together stone by stone has been drained – without it, the castle is structurally unsound!'

Voldemort opened his mouth and shouted something back, but he couldn't even hear himself as the ceiling toppled down.

* * *

Harry died twice before he wound up above the wreckage of the school instead of suffocating underneath it. He took a large, grateful gasp of air when he finally found himself topside. As he pressed himself up from the rubble, cutting his hands on the sharp, broken stones, he noted that at least the burn on his back hadn't been resurrected with him.

That was all he had time to think before Ginny's face, contorted in rage, blocked his view of the sky – and smashed his skull in with a sledgehammer.

When he returned to life again, Harry was still reeling.

'YOU WORTHLESS LITTLE BASTARD!' Voldemort shouted. (Harry, in his fuzzy state of mind, grinned sideways at the thought that he didn't sound nearly so intimidating with Ginny's voice.) 'I'LL KILL YOU – AGAIN!'

Voldemort stomped forward. One hand was balled into a fist at his side while the other carried a shiny magical sledgehammer that morphed into an ice pick. He didn't seem interested in spells at the moment; apparently he found physical conflict a better bandage for his shattered pride.

'Voldemort,' Harry greeted unenthusiastically. It was helpful to say his name – it reminded Harry that this _wasn't_ Ginny.

Voldemort growled in frustration as Harry Apparated across the rubble, but the short separation seemed to give him enough time to get his fury under control. The ice pick morphed back into a wand.

'Potter,' he said, spitting as if Harry's name was a curse, 'what did you do to cause this?!'

Although it was painful to see Ginny's eyes stare at him accusingly, he tried to focus on the fact that he'd just won his first victory in too many months, and he finally had a (sketchy) plan. He patted the crystal in his pocket.

'I have no reason to tell you anything,' Harry answered with a calm voice that didn't come easily. 'You're the one who boasts about his victories.'

Harry decided to Apparate _far _away and leave his nemesis to stew. It wasn't time to face him yet. As he raised his wand to do just that, a voice from behind him called his name loudly.

He swivelled and saw Ron running toward him, followed by several others, including Hagrid. Harry was paralyzed by trepidation, not knowing if they were there to help him or tell him off.

Voldemort smirked, and Harry knew without using Legilimency that he was intending to exact his revenge by killing Harry's friends.

Keeping his wand pointed at Voldemort, he yelled, 'SOD OFF! I'M FINE!'

But still his unwanted reinforcements approached, their footsteps easy to hear as they crunched through the snow.

Voldemort's unpleasant smile broadened at this insubordination. 'Can't keep your forces in line?' he taunted. 'I suppose I'll have to do it for you.'

Ron stopped when he was next to Harry, who couldn't help but shoot him a brief, angry look before returning to watching Voldemort like a steely-eyed hawk.

'What?' Ron asked in puzzlement at his reaction, as though Harry ought to have expected him to be there – as if they'd last seen each other that morning instead of over a month ago.

Harry fired a spell at Voldemort (nothing in particular, just something to get his attention) and, as it was blocked, told Ron, '_Get lost._'

He couldn't see Ron's face, but he could feel his anger in his voice when he said, 'Sorry, but _no_. Not being around for weeks means you've given up the privilege of telling me what to do.'

Guilt stabbed him like a rusty knife. He turned to Ron. 'Look, I'm sorry, but you really have to go –'

Harry's peripheral vision caught a burst of light, and he pushed Ron aside full-force. Now standing where Ron had been, Harry didn't even bother dodging the Killing Curse; being immortal was making him lazy about that, he thought.

'No!' shrieked Ron, and Harry remembered (even more guiltily) that Ron didn't know about his immortality yet. If only he'd told Kreacher –

His soul snapped back like an elastic band, and Harry returned to life. Ron, who'd already started to sob over his body, looked up.

'H-Harry?!'

He aimed his wand and hit Voldemort with a silent curse. Surprisingly, it didn't bounce off his usually strong protections (perhaps Voldemort was getting lazy too) and Ginny's legs wobbled underneath him. He flushed pink as he tried to direct his wand at them, clearly embarrassed to have been caught off-guard by a mere Jelly-Legs Jinx.

As that went on, Harry grabbed Ron by the shoulder. 'I'll explain –'

A scream of rage startled Harry into silence: coming up the hill with McLaggen, Hagrid, and Tonks was Draco Malfoy, and his face was the most frightening of all.

'_Avada Kedavra!_' he screamed.

The spell hit Voldemort, and Harry was disturbed by the sight of Ginny falling lifeless to the ground, even though he knew it wouldn't be long before she was reanimated.

'We all need to leave, _now_,' he told them. Ron, mouth hanging open, was still staring at Harry as if he were a giant spider.

Harry gripped his shoulder and Apparated away with him, hoping that the others would follow. Tonks had a solid head on her shoulders; he expected that she'd get them to retreat. Ron was right about one thing: Harry didn't have the right to give anyone orders anymore.

* * *

In front of Grimmauld Place, Ron blurted out, 'You're dead.' He was viscerally afraid, and he stepped away, eyeing Harry up and down with suspicion.

Harry wasn't sure where to start, and it took too long for him to figure it out; Hagrid and McLaggen appeared next to them, and Hagrid clapped Harry on the back.

'Yeh didn't think I'd not come back, did yeh?' Hagrid chuckled deeply. 'Where've yeh bin?'

'Abroad,' was all Harry had time to say before Tonks and Malfoy popped in.

'Help me with him!' cried Tonks. Harry got a look at Malfoy, who was leaning heavily against her; blood was gurgling from his mouth, his eyes rolling aimlessly in his head.

'_Mobilicorpus!_' said Harry, and Draco flopped onto an invisible gurney. Tonks had some of his blood running down her robes.

'What was he hit with?' Harry demanded to know as they got Draco into Grimmauld Place as quickly as possible.

'Nothing,' she answered with deadly seriousness, shaking her head in dismay. Harry's eyes were caught by the old, grey colour of her thinned-out hair, but he didn't think this was the time to mention it.

Draco tried to speak through the blood. 'Take it easy,' Harry told him. Draco regained enough motor control to glare at Harry earnestly, so Harry paused once they'd entered the doorway, holding off the people coming to greet him with a firmly raised hand.

He leaned in, smelling Draco's blood, and Draco slowly whispered, 'I…forgot…the vow…'

'The vow? What vow?' he asked.

Draco's fingers curled around Harry's sleeve. 'Vow…to him…the mark…'

'What's he saying?' Tonks demanded to know.

Harry could recognize someone taking command when he saw it, and he was perfectly willing to cede this situation to her. 'Something about a vow to someone and a mark, I think.'

'I don't understand.'

Draco managed to choke out one last word: '…potion.'

Harry frowned with worry as Draco's head lolled back. Malfoy wasn't his pal, but he'd try to kill Voldemort, and that was enough to at least put him in Harry's good books.

Tonks was snapping her fingers near her ears and squinting as though the answer was on the tip of her tongue. 'Got it!' she declared. She immediately pushed past Hagrid, who was blocking the door, and turned the knob.

'Keep him stable. I'll be back soon,' she ordered.

Once Tonks was gone and it was clear that they couldn't do anything for Draco at the moment, attention turned to Harry once more.

'Where were you?'

'What happened?'

Quieter, some asked, 'What are you going to do?'

Harry felt cornered by all the questions. 'Stop badgering him!' said Mrs Weasley, who was rushing down the stairs to greet him with a big smile on her face. Harry felt a little sick inside, and Ron was watching him closely, as if worried that he'd infect his mum with some undead disease.

As Mrs Weasley grabbed him and hugged him tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks (and Harry's guilt meter rising off the scale), Mrs Black seemed to wake up from whatever stupor had allowed such a gathering in the hallways and shrieked obscenities at them all. A few of the crowd closed the curtains, and then they all stuffed themselves into the drawing room. There were at least three times the number of people that Harry had ever seen in the house at once before.

'I'll make tea,' announced Mrs Weasley. 'Make yourself comfortable, Harry dear.'

Harry wondered morosely if she knew that he was responsible for the death – and worse – of her youngest child.

'Well, um…' Harry didn't know how to start. Then he realized that something – or rather some_one_ – very important was missing. 'Wait, where's Hermione?'

'Upstairs,' Ron answered. His eyes widened, and he seemed to realize that she'd chop him up into potion ingredients if he let her miss Harry's homecoming. 'I'll get her. She's resting.'

Harry waited awkwardly, and the others impatiently, for Hermione and Ron. As the stairs creaked, his trepidation only grew.

When he saw Hermione, an uncontrollable sob escaped his throat. 'Oh, Hermione…'

She stiffened and raised her chin. 'Harry,' she remarked coldly. Ron's hand tightened over hers, and the crowd parted to let her by. She was placed next to Harry on the couch, which made him uncomfortable given that she seemed so angry with him; when Ron tried to sit next to her, she grabbed his arm demandingly.

'No, you sit next to Harry,' she told him. Hermione had rarely brooked opposition before, but now everything she said came out as an almost magical command.

So Hermione scooted over so that Harry could scoot over, and Ron took a seat beside him (though, notably, he kept as far away from touching Harry as he could). It felt to him as though the three of them – him, the ringleader, and his two lieutenants on either side – were being lined up against a jury for a court-martial.

'So, I, uh…'

His thoughts were punctuated by a particularly loud moan from Draco and Mrs Black's howls. Bill and Charlie went as a team and got Mrs Black to shut up quickly; Tonks rushed up to Draco and held his head up, pushing a potion vial against his lips.

'Where'd you get that?' Bill asked her. 'All the shops are shut down.'

'Only the legitimate ones,' answered Tonks with a grimace; Harry could smell the potion even from where he sat, and it wasn't pleasant. 'I stole it. One of you can arrest me later.'

Malfoy drank the potion without being told, and he sighed in satisfaction as it took effect.

'What's wrong?' Harry asked him, earning several reproving looks from those waiting impatiently to ask him questions (and, from Hermione, a disapproving set of her jaw).

Draco scowled; the colour rose in his cheeks. 'Death Eaters, we…we all make an Unbreakable Vow to Voldemort.'

_That _got the room's attention. 'Why haven't you mentioned this before?!' asked Harry angrily.

Disdainfully, he answered, 'It didn't exactly come up in conversation, Potter! We're not supposed to talk about it!

'It's pretty basic, anyway,' he added, perhaps noticing with his wary eyes that a great deal of suspicion had been foisted upon him. 'There are only three rules: we can't harm him, we can't harm his "vessels", whatever that means –'

'Horcruxes, probably,' inserted Hermione. 'Go on.'

'And we can't tell anyone about the Vow,' finished Draco. 'That's it for most of us.'

Ron looked puzzled. 'Why wouldn't he want anyone to know about the Vow? And how come he doesn't make you lot obey his every command? I'd definitely put that on my Unbreakable Vow list if I were him.'

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Hermione got there first. 'Of course he wouldn't want anyone to know – it would cut the recruitment rate if anyone realized they had to make an Unbreakable Vow to sign on. By the time they're at the point where they get the Mark, they can't possibly back out.'

Draco looked grimly reminiscent.

Then, her brow wrinkled, Hermione added, 'As for the other question, an Unbreakable Vow to never disobey his orders would result in an awful lot of casualties, wouldn't it? If a Death Eater failed his mission, he'd die. It seems that he probably had to forego that for practical purposes. I suppose a Death Eater could vow that he'd obey orders to the best of his ability to get around that, but defining what the best of one's ability is can be slippery. I mean, if a Death Eater made a dumb mistake, maybe that wouldn't count as "the best of his ability", and he would fall down dead just for making a misstep in a duel. And "try to obey" would be even worse…'

Apparently even without eyes Hermione noticed that she was boring people now, so she clamped her mouth shut.

'Like I said,' Malfoy concluded, as though Hermione's words had been his own, 'he can't force me to do anything for him.'

Harry connected the dots. 'But you broke your Vow!'

'That's why he needs this potion,' Tonks piped in, holding up the empty vial.

Moody rumbled, 'Death by an Unbreakable Vow can be held off – for years, even, by a competent wizard or witch – but not indefinitely. Not unless the person the Vow is made to dies.'

Even Ron looked at Draco with sympathy. 'But he can't die.'

'Yeah, well, I guess that means I'm going to die, Weasley, and you can have a party when I'm gone!' Draco madly declared, clearly perturbed by the knowledge that death was creeping up on him.

'I don't mean to be insensitive, but we have more pressing issues,' declared Bill loudly, ending the conversation and turning to Harry, whose stomach sunk. He couldn't put this off anymore.

'Okay,' he relented. He took a deep breath and told the painful story of what had occurred during the attempt to rescue Ginny as the crowd around him listed in raptly attentive horror. Harry tried not to look at Mrs Weasley as he spoke, knowing that she would be among the most devastated to hear about how her daughter had died.

When he was done, he was expecting a lot of questions from Hermione, but she seemed shell-shocked by all the information.

'I've learned a lot more today, too,' he added, hoping to get everything he had to say out in the open now.

'Wait a minute!' interrupted Ron with a desperate tone. 'You mean…_you _can't die either?!'

He held back a depressed sigh. 'Yeah, that's right.'

'_Awesome_,' McLaggen gushed, looking at Harry with breathless admiration for the first time.

'It's not awesome!' snapped Harry. 'Don't you get it?! He has part of my _soul_!'

'Oh Harry!' Hermione sobbed, throwing her arms around him unexpectedly. 'I'm so sorry!'

Her heartfelt sympathy affected him powerfully; it was as if her emotions seeped into him. Tears came to his eyes, and he hugged her back tightly. He lightly kissed her scarred cheek. '_I'm_ sorry,' he whispered in her ear.

He soon pulled back, embarrassed by everyone's attention, and stared into his lap.

'We're dead.'

The words came from Malfoy. 'No,' Harry told him with a quelling glare. 'I have a plan – well, sort of. I'll need everyone's help to make it work.'

'We'll do anything,' insisted Hermione, sounding as though she'd be willing to go to hell and back if he asked her. 'I mean…I'll be as helpful as possible…' she murmured, her head falling downward in shame of her physical disability.

'You'll be a big part of it,' he promised her. He wasn't sure how, but there was no way he'd let Hermione feel useless. She perked up at this, and he forced a smile – though it quickly faded as he remembered she couldn't see him anyway.

'Well, what's the plan?' grumbled Moody. 'The sooner we get started, the better. There's no telling how long…'

He trailed off at the fury he saw in Tonks's eyes. 'Remus _won't_ betray us, if that's what you're thinking. He'd sooner die.'

Moody huffed. 'Might be better if he did. We could assign a new Secret Keeper.'

Tonks's jaw dropped in disbelieving outrage.

'I'll tell you my idea,' Harry interrupted to distract the two. 'We can't afford to be divided right now, so let's focus on the task at hand: destroying Voldemort.

'First off – and I know this'll sound crazy, but hear me out – I need to get into the Ministry.'

'That's impossible!' Bill interrupted immediately. 'There are Dementors all over, and we wouldn't even have time to set up the Dementor Net before –'

'I know all that!' Harry insisted – though he didn't. 'We can work out the details later. It can't be done any other way, because I need to go into the Department of Mysteries.'

'_No_,' Tonks declared, aghast.

'Yes,' he pronounced, gritting his teeth. 'I know there are obstacles, but if I can just –'

The room erupted in a cacophony of objections.

'We don't have the manpower –' started Moody.

'– never get to the lift –'

'– be at least a dozen guarding –'

'Shut it!' yelled Ron. 'Let Harry finish, at least!'

_Thanks, Ron_, he thought, beaming at his friend. Ron smiled weakly in return, but Harry could tell that him being immortal and partly soulless was straining their relationship.

'Right, so, like I was saying, once we get to the Department of Mysteries, I need to jump through the Veil, and –'

A hand shot up in the air. 'Yes?' asked Harry snappishly.

'What's the Veil?' asked a newer member timidly.

Hermione explains. 'It separates the living from the dead. Harry, you can't go in there, you'd…oh, right.'

'What?' asked Ron.

'Well, most people would die, but Harry wouldn't, seeing as he can't. I'm not sure how he'd find his way out, though,' Hermione muttered, considering the matter.

'Once I'm in there, I need to collect the pieces of Voldemort's soul, and –'

'_The pieces of his what?!_'

Harry sighed. This was going to take a while...and the real work was yet to come.


	30. The Seven Souls

**A/N: **Sorry for the long wait between chapters; I've been really busy with real life stuff. There are only four chapters remaining, so the story is definitely nearing its end after a (very) long time. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed - I hope you enjoy the newest installment!

_**Chapter Thirty: **__**The Seven Souls**_

Malfoy Manor was not what Harry had expected. An imposing, creaky, wrought-iron gate did not enclose a towering castle, and there were no bats swooping around to make it seem ancient and haunted. Instead there stood an old but well-maintained cottage of simple red brick with white, lacy curtains that Aunt Petunia would have thought worthy of hanging above the small windows in the kitchen.

Perhaps Draco Malfoy noticed that one of Harry's eyebrows was climbing disbelievingly into his hairline, for he said, 'It doesn't _really_ look like that, Potter,' rolling his eyes as if Harry were a simpleton for thinking otherwise.

Sure enough, when they reached the edge of the little white picket fence surrounding the house, the image of the manor changed immediately to what Harry had envisioned.

'Typical,' he muttered.

'What do you mean by that?!' said Malfoy, snarling as if being called "typical" was equivalent to being called a Mudblood.

'Easy there,' said Hermione, moving to stand between them. Somehow she had developed a way to tell where everyone was; Harry thought it must be a spell, but he was still far too uncomfortable about her blindness to ask. 'We're all on the same side, remember?'

'Are you sure your father won't be in there?' ask Tonks. Lucius Malfoy wouldn't be able to stop them from entering his home – there were too many of them – but if he were to alert Voldemort, their plan would be completely ruined.

'Of course I am!' Malfoy immediately turned back to the gate and worked with the lock to open it. Harry couldn't resist using Legilimency, just to make sure – and he discovered to his dismay that his suspicions were correct: Malfoy was lying. He had no idea whether his father would be inside or not.

'If he's there, we'll deal with him,' said Harry grimly, holding up his wand to illustrate the point.

Malfoy swivelled, betrayal written on his face. 'You have to swear you won't hurt him!'

Ron looked ready to hex Malfoy, and the others were quickly losing patience with him as well. 'I promise,' said Harry to prevent them from being held up by more arguing.

Malfoy looked smugly at Ron before returning to the gate. Harry was surprised his word meant so much to Draco; he wasn't entirely sure he would keep it if he came face-to-face with Lucius. He felt like he ought to be guilty, so he tried to be, and he determined that he'd keep his promise after all, if he possibly could.

'Are you sure about him?' Ron whispered, glaring distrustfully at Malfoy's back.

'We need Malfoy to get in quietly,' Harry quietly reminded him.

Getting into Malfoy Manor was critical. Floo Network access was strictly monitored, and anyone who wasn't a supporter of Voldemort was in danger of being Grounded – transferred to a holding area for interrogation – whenever it was used. If the rumours extracted by Aberforth from the Hog's Head (one of the few establishments still operating in Hogsmeade) were true, Voldemort had become particularly vindictive since Hogwarts' destruction; nearly everyone who wasn't a Death Eater was Grounded if they tried to use the Floo.

That made Malfoy Manor one of the only places from which they could Floo to the Ministry with impunity.

With a soft _click_, the lock on the gates fell to the ground. Malfoy tapped the bars with his wand, and they slowly swung open.

Harry felt sudden trepidation like a kick to the stomach. They were about to invade the Department of Mysteries for the second time to execute a plan that was even more insane than the hastily scrapped-together one from nearly two years before. It had taken a month to pull the entire scheme together, but suddenly Harry didn't see how he could ask the Order to risk their lives yet again for a potentially futile scheme.

Hermione was the first to cross the threshold, and she did so with ease and confidence that boosted Harry's own optimism. After all, if Hermione thought his plan was good enough to support, maybe it really was.

'Let's go,' she said, and she walked toward the door without fear or hesitation.

* * *

Harry was the first to toss his handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace. 

'The Ministry.'

When his trip was over, he turned immediately to where he knew the Death Eater guards would be standing – but the guard post was deserted. His eyes snapped to every corner of the room, yet he could find no enemies anywhere.

A few fireplaces away, a flare of light preceded Hermione's arrival. She, too, turned her head from side to side searching for opponents.

'There's no one here,' she said to Tonks, who made the same sweep of the room upon her arrival. 'Voldemort must be relying on the Floo Network to weed out unwanted visitors.'

Tonks's lips thinned, and Harry could tell that she was expecting a trap. Hermione, however, seemed confident enough that no one was around to drop her wand to her side.

'He's not expecting us,' said Harry, pleased that their entry had gone so smoothly.

'Ten more,' muttered Hermione. Malfoy had explained that those who were keeping an eye on the Floo Network would probably interpret a meeting of about thirteen witches and wizards as a congregation of the inner circle of Death Eaters, so they'd certainly be left alone. More, however, would increase suspicion.

The Order had grown in number, so slots in the invasion party had been highly prized. Next to appear out of the Floo was Ron, who, along with Hermione, were non-negotiable to Harry; he'd allowed Tonks to decide on the remaining nine participants.

Then came Luna, whose inclusion had been suggested by Hermione. Harry had been initially puzzled by Tonks's automatic acceptance of Hermione's good word, privately thinking that a more experienced dueller would be more practical.

Then Hermione had offered up McLaggen's name, and at that point Harry had objected – only to be shot down after being pointedly reminded that McLaggen had saved Ron's life from Voldemort in the December battle.

Afterwards, Harry had remembered that Luna was responsible for his own escape that night, and he had promptly shut up.

Moody was a paranoid but brilliant ex-Auror, so naturally he was chosen. Malfoy was there to make sure he couldn't betray the Order to Voldemort after letting them into the Manor; despite his attempt on Voldemort's life, none could forget how the last supposedly reformed Death Eater who had earned their trust had turned the tables on them.

After him came Hagrid, who was keeping a particularly sharp eye on Malfoy – the attempted execution of Buckbeak was still a sore spot with him.

Then Bill and Charlie arrived. Next was Fred, who had threatened to betray them to Voldemort unless they brought him along, so determined was he to get revenge for George.

Finally, there was Mrs Weasley, whose demand had been even more impossible to refuse than Fred's. 'That monster has assaulted my husband and murdered my daughter, and two of my sons may be dead,' she had told Tonks, shaking with cold rage. 'I _will_ go.'

The crowded lift dropped to the ninth floor; from there, they made a beeline to the Department of Mysteries. Mrs Weasley shut the door behind them, and those in the room who had never seen the circular wall revolve let out noises of surprise; the rest of them waited patiently for the doors to fall into place.

When they did, Hermione broke ranks and tried the door directly in front of her. She peeked inside and shook her head immediately; as she shut the door, she used their old tactic of marking the door with an _X_.

The wall spun again, and Hermione tried another door. It was also the wrong one; she marked it, shut it, and opened the next one that appeared in front of her.

She spent longer staring into this room, and Harry held a breath, hoping it was the right one. But Hermione popped her head out, marked the door with another _X _– though the mark was gold, a different colour than the others – and shut the door.

'What was that for?' asked Ron, indicating the colour of the mark before the doors moved.

'Later,' she told him abruptly, not even bothering to face him. Instead, she stayed focused on the wall, and when it stopped, she again opened the closest door.

'Here,' said Hermione. Harry and Ron moved forward to join her; the others set up a defensive perimeter in the main room.

'Good luck!' Luna called cheerily, waving to them. Harry turned and waved back half-heartedly.

They went into the room and shut the door. Harry knew that it was spinning behind them. Hermione hadn't marked it; they hoped that if Voldemort and the Death Eaters managed to defeat the Order, his efforts to find Harry would still be frustrated by the sheer size of the Department of Mysteries.

Harry looked down into the pit. The pointed stone archway was the same as ever; the veil fluttered invitingly.

The trio walked together into the pit and approached the raised platform. Harry alone approached the archway and touched the veil with the tips of his fingers. The voices behind it were louder than ever, beckoning him. _Ginny's in there,_ he thought, and the temptation to cross over was more than he could resist.

Fortunately, he didn't have to.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, who were closer to the archway than he was comfortable with. From here, they could not follow.

'You're sure you'll come back, right?' asked Ron.

'Sure,' he lied.

Hermione moved to hug him. 'I became very good at Legilimency while you were gone,' she whispered, and Harry realized that she knew he wasn't sure what would happen when he walked beyond the veil. 'Good luck.'

'I still need the other thing,' he muttered to her as she broke the hug.

'I'll take care of it,' she said confidently.

'But are you –'

He didn't get to finish his question; perhaps to avoid answering it, Hermione pushed him, and Harry tumbled backward into death.

* * *

He stumbled into an all-encompassing darkness. His feet were on solid ground, and he took a couple of breaths just to prove that he could – though when he thought about it, he couldn't possibly be breathing air here anyway. 

Something tapped at his forehead; he stiffened in alarm and looked up to see a dangling cord.

Harry pulled the cord and heard a click; an instant later, a bare light bulb turned on above him, and he blinked against the sudden brightness. Once he could see again, he observed that he was in a small wooden room. Paint cans with rims stained red and gold, a tower of toolboxes and spare parts, and a sturdy wooden workbench cluttered the shed and surrounded him with shadows.

He took a step back and nearly yelped when his bottom bumped into something: it was an old motorbike. He was sure it hadn't been there before…

'Hand me the wrench,' said a muffled voice that sounded like it was coming from right beside him – but there was no one there. The wrench was on the edge of the workbench, so Harry grabbed it and then turned back to the motorbike.

And there was Sirius, squatted next to the bike as if he'd been there the whole time, staring intently into the engine. Harry's heart pounded; Sirius was young again, his hair trimmed and his face as handsome and exuberant as in the wedding photo from long ago.

'Wrench,' he said, holding his hand out insistently. Harry swallowed and leaned in, brushing his fingers against Sirius's as he pressed the wrench into his hand – and Sirius was solid, warm, and _real_.

'So,' started Sirius as he placed the wrench around a bolt and twisted, 'how've you been?' Then he chuckled. 'I guess not too well, seeing as you're here.'

Harry brushed off a spider as he replied, 'Yeah, things have been pretty awful since you…you know.'

'You're not dead, though,' he said, grunting as he pulled the wrench hard.

'How can you tell?' wondered Harry.

'Hard to explain. Hammer?'

Harry wasn't sure what good a hammer could do for a motorbike, but he handed it over anyway. It was when Sirius started to hit something inside the engine with the hammer that Harry realized his godfather had no idea what he was doing – but Sirius was enjoying working on the bike anyway, so Harry didn't mention it.

'I'm looking for bits of Voldemort's soul,' he said.

The hammer stopped.

'I know it probably sounds weird, but I need to find them –' he pulled the crystal out of his pocket '– and get them to go in here...somehow.'

'Won't be too hard,' said Sirius, grabbing a towel and brushing sweat off his brow. 'You've got plenty of friends to help out. There are lots of new arrivals.'

He sighed and put down the hammer. 'I guess I'm the first. Where are we going?'

'How should I know?' asked Harry.

Sirius shrugged and tossed the towel over his shoulder. 'It's your delusion.' With a warm smile and kind eyes, he added, 'It's good to see most of you again, by the way.'

At first the "most of you" comment confused him, but then Harry remembered with a sick feeling that not all of his soul was there. Obviously Sirius could tell – it must be how he knew Harry wasn't dead yet. 'You too,' he answered with all the genuine feeling he could dig out from within himself. 'You've really been missed.'

'Hey, don't go all mushy on me!' said Sirius, laughing again. 'Now, which way are we going? Follow your instincts!'

'Well…' Without even realizing it, Harry had turned toward the door. 'I think we have to leave the shed.'

They walked outside into a wasteland. The ground was hard and scarred with deep, thirsty cracks leading to lush green mountains.

'We can't go there,' said Sirius quickly as he noticed Harry look avidly toward the mountains. His hands settled on the grips of the motorbike.

Sirius revved up the bike, and Harry got on the back. With him giving commands and Sirius flying them low above the ground, they seemed to fly for hours until a speck appeared on the unchanging landscape.

'There!' cried Harry, and Sirius drove them aground right next to a little black book with a basilisk's tooth stabbed through it. He leaned in closer to examine it. The cracks in the ground seemed to converge on the diary, which was leaking black ink in all directions.

It was being fed upon. Harry was filled with a sudden sensation of unease; he could swear that the diary was moaning in his ears.

Harry took out the crystal and turned to Sirius. 'What do I do now?'

'Feed it.' For the first time he could see part of the sad Sirius in this one's eyes.

'How?'

Sirius rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. 'No!' cried Harry, though he didn't know what he was afraid of.

'It's all right,' he told him. 'Just enough to distract it.'

Blood dripped from Sirius's arm onto the ground, and the cracks shifted; Harry could feel them roll under his feet. They moved away from the diary and lapped up the blood greedily.

Harry immediately reached out and picked up the diary; he could feel its relief, its tender hope. He smiled tentatively, feeling strangely sorry for it. Then it turned to grains of sand at his touch, and the grains floated gently into the crystal, which glowed brighter than before.

His eyes turned back to Sirius, who was rolling down a sleeve that was now tattered. Long, wild hair fell down to his shoulders, his skin drooped from his cheeks, and his eyes were red-rimmed and older.

This was Sirius after Azkaban.

'Love is the favourite meal of death,' he said in a weedy voice. With a gentle, lonely smile, Sirius faded away.

'No!'

'What's wrong?'

Neville was leaning against the motorbike wearing an uncharacteristic biker jacket and blue jeans. He looked older than he'd been at the time of his death, and he wore confidence with ease, though Neville had always needed to strive to grasp it in life. With that confidence was a half-smile, as if the two of them were sharing a wry joke at Sirius's demise.

But this wasn't at all funny. 'Sirius! Where is he?'

'Don't worry,' said Neville with an unconcerned tone and a wave of his hand. 'He's fine. He just had to leave.'

Neville thumbed behind him, and Harry turned to look at the sparkling mountains. 'You can't go there, though,' he added, repeating Sirius's words. His apprehensive gaze fell up and down Harry's body. 'You can't ever go there like that.'

Harry looked down at himself; he wore plain jeans and a white t-shirt. Was there a dress code he didn't know about? 'Why not?'

'Don't think about it. You've got a job to do, right? Let's get going.'

The motorbike purred underneath them as they flew. The path was clearer than before; he followed the cracks in the ground until they came to an abrupt stop.

When they'd landed, Harry asked, 'Where is this, anyway?'

Neville shuffled toward the ends of the cracks. 'Don't think about it.'

'Everyone keeps telling me that,' muttered Harry mutinously. He held Neville back. 'I want to know what happened to Sirius.'

'He's fine,' repeated Neville. 'If you must know, these are the badlands between life and…' Again, he thumbed toward the mountains.

'So the pieces of Voldemort's soul are stuck in…' Harry searched for an appropriate word.

'Limbo,' supplied Neville, 'and not one of the nicer limbos, either. Come on.'

'And Sirius?' Had Sirius been stuck here all this time? Was Neville trapped too?

Neville seemed to understand what he was thinking; he smiled and shook his head. 'He was just here to help you out. So am I.'

He grabbed Harry's hand, and together they walked through an invisible barrier where the cracks appeared to end. It led to a small, rough-hewn cavern; the cracks hadn't ended at all, but instead crept across the walls. At least a hundred tiny veins connected into them from a shrivelled black heart that screeched weakly into Harry's ear. It sent small pinches of pain travelling down his arms.

The heart was close enough to touch, but Neville pushed Harry's arm back. 'It's my turn,' he said, smiling peacefully as he took off his jacket, handed it to a deeply troubled Harry, and pressed his back into the opposite wall of the cave.

The veins snapped out of the heart all at once, reared up like razor-thin snakes, and struck Neville in the chest. Neville's mouth opened, but no sound came out; he was shrivelling before his eyes.

If this was Harry's delusion, he couldn't imagine how ill his mind must be to conjure up such a vision.

'Heart,' Neville gasped out, his eyes rolling back in his head and his finger shaking as it pointed toward the floor. Harry, unable to tear his gaze from the horrific sight before him, knelt down and blindly felt around for it.

Harry's hand closed around the heart; in the same moment, Neville let out his last, soft breath and faded away. As with the diary, the heart, quivering in Harry's hand, crumbled and fed into the crystal.

The veins were drawn slowly, reluctantly, back into the wall, their meal finished.

Harry shivered; he put on Neville's old coat for warmth and walked back to the motorbike.

…Except the motorbike wasn't there. A deep, loud call came from the direction of the mountains. _What was that?_ he wondered.

It happened again, but this time it was closer, and Harry thought he could make out the words, 'Land ho!'

The ground rumbled under his feet as a shape in the distance became clearer. It looked like a boat, but it was chopping through the ground like an icebreaker – and it was heading right for him.

Harry wasn't afraid. Even though the place he was in felt hostile, all the people in it had been friends so far. When he finally saw the captain of the ship, who was standing spread-eagled on the fore rails and waving his arms in the air, Harry was filled with warm relief.

The boat's course halted a few feet in front of him, and Captain Albus Dumbledore jumped off the rails. His hair was thick and auburn and his beard was gone; he wore a tall purple wizard's hat and matching deep purple robes with flashing stars sewn in.

'Hot, isn't it?' He tugged at the collar of his robes and a plume of steam rose up from his neck, sticking onto his half-moon spectacles. He found himself more thankful to see Dumbledore than anyone else; the Headmaster's strong, bright presence obscured the dark moments that lay ahead.

'I guess you're here to help me find one of the Horcruxes.'

'Oh no,' said Dumbledore, tut-tutting and gravely shaking his head, 'they're not Horcruxes anymore, just bits of soul left to be tormented in…this place. I would ask if you truly are sure about saving them, but I can see…'

He regarded Harry with a sad, droopy expression. Harry got the distinct impression that he wasn't being told something important, and it irked him.

Dumbledore's mood picked up. 'Let's see what we can do for you. All aboard!'

He bowed and indicated toward the boat. A plank dropped from the sky; one end settled on the side of the boat, and the other fell at Harry's feet. As he walked up, he noticed the name of the boat written on its side: _S.S. Phoenix_. He couldn't stop himself from grinning.

However, Harry decided after a few bumpy minutes that he definitely preferred travelling by motorbike. The loudness of the boat as it cut through the rock beneath it was grating on his nerves.

'Why can't we go toward the mountains?' shouted Harry over the din. Dumbledore, who sat in a pink lawn chair and seemed to be using the umbrella in his drink to steer, looked away pointedly, pretending not to hear his question.

The boat ground to a halt with such force that Harry was thrown overboard. 'We're here!' he heard Dumbledore declare as they both tumbled through the air.

They landed in a pool of cool, clear water. Harry took off the leather jacket and let it sink to the bottom; it was, unfortunately, ruined.

'Wonderful!' cried the young Dumbledore, who appeared to have changed into an old-style swimsuit in midair. 'How refreshing!'

Harry was already looking at the small island surrounded by the pool of water. A circle of fire hovered inches off the ashen ground like a vertical hula-hoop, and within the hoop was the ring. Flares crackled off the circle and stabbed at the ring.

Harry felt a ghost of its pain settle in the pit of his stomach and wanted to save the ring right away to put it to an end. Why was he feeling this way?

'Each piece of soul you gather connects you more to the others,' explained Dumbledore without prompting. 'You will come to feel their pain as your own by the end of this journey. Be warned.'

How was he supposed to save the soul fragments if he was writhing in pain alongside them? 'But –'

Dumbledore, it seemed, did not wish to answer more questions, for he sprung out of the pool and streaked like a cannonball into the centre of the circle. As soon as his outstretched hand crossed its threshold, the fire snapped inward, converging on his arm from all directions.

He was frozen horizontally in midair, screaming in terrible agony.

Harry swam to land as quickly as possible and scrambled in panic toward the flames. He knew there was only one way to save both Dumbledore and himself: take the ring.

He grasped it in his hand and immediately sank to his knees, overcome with relief by proxy. As the ring's ashes entered the crystal, he crawled toward Dumbledore, a purple lump on the blackened ground. The circle of fire was rapidly snuffed out, as if it had been abruptly deprived of the oxygen it needed to thrive.

Harry was surprised that Dumbledore was still there by the time he reached him. He placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him around: he was old and pale, too thin, with one hand burnt down to the bone.

'I'm all right,' said Dumbledore slowly. With Harry's help, he managed to rise to his feet.

'Why didn't you disappear like Sirius and Neville?' he asked curiously as they stumbled toward the water. The _S.S. Phoenix _waited obligingly for them.

'You are not the only one I need to help here,' he said, coughing and wheezing. 'We must locate your next escort. He has been here only a few minutes, and he is badly disoriented, I fear.'

'A few minutes?!' said Harry. 'What do you mean?' The question foremost in his mind was: _is it Ron?_

'It is not Mr Weasley,' was Dumbledore's calm reply. 'It is Remus Lupin.'

'…Oh.'

He couldn't believe Remus was dead.

'I believe it is a welcome release for him after what he has suffered,' Dumbledore said softly, but Harry couldn't take comfort in that.

He settled Dumbledore into the lawn chair and handed him the glass. 'I'm afraid you'll have to steer.' He held out the umbrella, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a tiny wooden wheel. 'That way.' His good hand pointed out into the distance.

After a few false starts, Harry managed to get the boat moving in the right direction. It wasn't long before he saw the edge of a dark emptiness that marked the edge of the badlands.

It also seemed to mark the end of the world.

They drove right into it. 'Stop!' croaked Dumbledore. The boat stopped with its fore in the darkness and its aft in badlands, forming a wedge between the two. Harry walked Dumbledore slowly down the plank, and the two stared out into the vast nothingness.

'What are we looking for?' Harry asked.

'That,' said Dumbledore grimly.

There was a speck in the distance. 'I regret to say that I cannot continue on with you, Harry.' Dumbledore leaned heavily on the boat, his eyes bespeaking great pain. 'Take care of Remus.'

Dumbledore faded away, and Harry was alone again but for the man in the distance.

He walked. It seemed very cold and solitary, and for the first time since he entered, it occurred to Harry that he might not be able to leave. He looked back at the boat periodically to be sure it still served as a bastion against the darkness for him to return to.

Remus was curled up in a silent ball just a few feet away, his head tucked between his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs as he rocked gently. Harry could already tell he was younger; there was no grey in his hair, and he wasn't unhealthily thin.

'Remus? Remus?'

'Harry?'

Remus looked up, and Harry saw a flash of combined hope and worry in his eyes before he sucked up a breath in alarm and leaped backward.

'_What are you?!_' Remus hissed hatefully with a feral expression. 'Where am I? Is this another trick? I won't tell you what you want to know!'

'I'm Harry!' he insisted. 'Remus, please –'

'Don't sully his name! How could you possibly think I'd mistake _you_ for Harry!' He gave Harry a derisory look up and down, and his lip curled in disgust. 'Go ahead and finish me, creature!'

Harry was both discouraged and disturbed by Remus's expression. 'Please,' he begged softly, 'I need your help. I _am_ Harry!'

'Oh really?' asked Remus with a disbelieving snort. 'So tell me, "Harry", do you need an invitation to Grimmauld? Have you been locked out? Which excuse is it today?'

The sarcasm stung. 'No, it's nothing like that. You remember the Horcruxes, don't you?'

Remus regarded him warily. 'You certainly aren't Harry, but few others would know about Horcruxes.' If anything, he seemed more suspicious than before, and Harry realized that he probably thought he was Voldemort.

'I _am_ Harry!' he insisted once more, gritting his teeth in frustration. He didn't have time to convince Remus who he was – why couldn't he just _know_ like the others had?! 'Remus, please, _look_ at me!'

'I am looking,' he answered immediately, voice filled with scorn, 'and you look more like an Inferius than like Harry Potter.'

Harry's shoulders slumped. Remus seemed to be mad…but he needed him, and even if he didn't, he couldn't, he wouldn't, leave him all alone. He scrambled to find some way to change his mind. 'Well then, if…if I don't look like me, then I must be Harry Potter! Voldemort wouldn't send such a bad copy of me to talk to you, right? It's me, Remus, believe me! Remember what you said in –'

Remus interrupted with an immediate roll of his eyes. 'Not this again. "Remember this, remember that?" I know you've mined every single one of my personal experiences. We've been through this before. You'll have to try harder.'

'You're _dead_, Remus! Voldemort isn't here! It's just you and me! I need your help to destroy the next Horcrux!'

After much frustrating cajoling, Harry finally got Remus to at least accept the _possibility_ that he _might_ be Harry Potter – particularly since he had no interest in Grimmauld Place at all. And, regardless of the strain between them, they both agreed that they didn't want to stay in the disquieting darkness, so they made their way back to the _Phoenix_.


	31. Debts Repaid

**A/N: **Finally, this chapter is complete! The part with Harry behind the veil has taken far longer than I expected, so the fic will probably end up being thirty-five chapters, not thirty-four (and certainly not my originally-planned thirty-three!) I hope you enjoy it!_**  
**_

_**Chapter Thirty-One: **__**Debts Repaid**_

The journey with Remus on the _S.S. Phoenix_ was tense. Remus sat stooped on the edge of Dumbledore's lawn chair, focusing a suspicious look on Harry; Harry stood on deck, trying and failing to ignore Remus, twirling the tiny wheel this way and that with his fingertips, but finding nothing.

'It feels like it should be here,' he said, frowning in confusion as he glanced across the landscape but seeing nothing except barren earth. His heart palpitated wildly with an unusual, visceral dread; he wondered why, but then remembered Dumbledore's warning that he would become more affected by the pain of Voldemort's soul as he gathered its pieces.

'It's not here, though, is it?' stated Remus bluntly, gazing off dully into space.

Harry didn't answer. He knew it was there. 'Which ones are left?' he asked aloud. 'There's the locket, the cup, and the snake…the locket was in a cave, but I don't see any caves around here…the cup was underground…'

The crystal buzzed against his thigh from within his pocket as if to confirm that his thoughts were tending in the right direction. 'I think I've got it.'

'_Smashing_,' muttered Remus, tapping on his knee impatiently.

Harry wasn't sure at first how to command the _Phoenix_ to do what he wanted. He stared at the wheel and then, inspired, pushed it down the stick it was attached to.

The _Phoenix_ banged like a backfiring engine, and then it slowly moved forward – and downward. Soon Harry couldn't see the sky unless he looked straight up. A canopy flew over the boat, covering them, and everything was dark as it kept drilling.

'We're almost there!' shouted Harry, covering his ears to block out the noise. He could no longer see Remus, nor could he hear his own words.

The journey ceased suddenly; after his ears stopped ringing, Harry heard several large rocks smash against the canopy.

'Are you all right?' yelled Remus.

'Yeah,' said Harry. It was hard to remain standing; the _Phoenix_ was leaning steeply. Its badly bent starboard rails were pressed up against a crack large enough to walk into.

As he looked into the crack, an abrupt shudder of pain brought Harry to his knees.

Remus stood over him, looking concerned – looking like _Remus_ instead of a bitter, distrusting copy. 'Let me help you,' he said gently; he grabbed Harry by the shoulders and helped to keep him steady as they walked over the rails.

They moved through the path hewn in the rock until they reached the centre. The cup sat in the middle of a circular chamber. A liquid – thick blood of such deep red that it was nearly black – bubbled up and dripped down the sides of the cup onto the ground; it was gulped into the cracks.

'What now?' asked Remus. He turned to Harry with a scrutinizing expression, as though trying to discern whether or not he _truly _was who he claimed to be. Harry smiled, and that seemed to convince him. 'I'm dead.' His eyes widened in alarm. 'And you, you're –'

'I'm not,' he promised. He clutched his chest as a blot of agony spread through it. 'I need to get the cup.'

'I thought you already destroyed it.' Remus manoeuvred Harry into a sitting position on the ground; soon the pain had passed again.

'This place is different. That's not a Horcrux; it's his soul. I need it.'

'How can you be here with me if I'm dead and you're not? And why do you look like…'

Harry frowned and looked down at himself. He didn't see what Remus meant; he looked exactly like himself. 'I have to get it. Please, Remus, trust me.' He snapped back against the wall, clutching his chest. 'I…can't…'

Remus squeezed his shoulder in sympathy, and the pain receded to a manageable level. 'I'll get it.'

'No!' Harry grabbed Remus's arm, terrified of what would happen if Remus touched the cup. 'You don't understand…it'll hurt you…I can't let anyone else get hurt because of me.'

'Hurt me?' For the first time since Harry had found him in this place, Remus smiled peacefully; with his face so young and unmarred by years of lycanthropy, he could even have been called handsome. 'You said I'm dead, didn't you?'

'But –'

'I've been through a lot,' said Remus decisively, talking over him, 'and I would do it all over again to help the Order – and you. Nothing I suffer in death will change that.' His brow furrowed, and he glanced away as he added, 'I have many regrets about how I lived my life, things I did and didn't do, but perhaps I did enough right…'

'You did!' Harry assured him, and when Remus looked into his eyes and saw truth, a great weight shifted from his shoulders, completing his transformation into a happy young man.

He stood up and stared at the cup, then turned back to Harry. 'Say goodbye to Tonks for me. Tell her I truly love her. I never said it enough.'

He picked up the cup and held it out to Harry. As Harry pressed himself up and closed his fingers around the cup's other handle, he couldn't help but feel that he'd done something really _right_.

Then Remus's face drained of colour rapidly; Harry looked down to see blood soaking through his pant legs. His face was sunken and lined by the time the cup's handle slipped through his fingers, and then he disappeared.

The cup dissolved. Sunlight shone on the spot where the cup had been, and Harry looked up to see a hole wide enough for him to fit through – if he could only reach it. After a few test jumps, he knew it was impossible to go through it on his own.

As he was about to leave, a muscular arm shot down from the hole. 'Grab hold!' a man called down to him, his voice muffled by the rock.

Harry jumped, and the hand closed firmly around his arm. He felt light as a child as he was pulled up into the bright light; he heard birds chirping, and even that unobtrusive sign of life was a relief.

He sat with his legs dangling in the hole, and he turned to see his rescuer. The face that greeted him rendered him speechless.

'Hello Harry,' said James tenderly, kneeling beside him. He put his hand on Harry's face, rubbing his son's cheek with his thumb. 'It's very good to see you.'

They were surrounded by greenery. The mountains were so close that Harry could no longer see their peaks. He smiled tentatively at his father, wishing that he could experience the full force of the happiness he knew he ought to feel.

'I'm glad to see you too,' Harry managed to say, and that much was certainly true.

James clapped him on the back. 'Thank you for what you did for Remus. He couldn't have crossed over without you. He was too overcome with pain and regrets, but you helped him to see past it and remember all the worthwhile parts of his life. I'm proud of you, son.'

Harry had never thought, in his wildest dreams, that he would ever hear those words from his dad. He was once again silent. James reached back and produced a shining silvery sword.

'That was Gryffindor's,' said Harry immediately. He frowned when he saw a glint of a strange reflection in the blade, but James immediately pulled it away.

'We have a snake to slay,' said James with a grin, and Harry forgot all about the reflection. 'I hear you're the expert, so lead on.'

Harry and his father walked into a dark patch of woods nearby; Harry simply led them in the direction that was most painful for him to follow. Within minutes, he needed James's help to support himself; when he finally saw the end of the snake's body whip by, Harry grunted out, 'Stop.'

James sat him down on the ground, and Harry slumped up against the tree trunk. His vision was blurred, but he could still make out the sight of a long stretch of nearly transparent snakeskin hanging on a high tree branch.

The snake itself, a perfect copy of Nagini, was circling the tree; its eyes caught Harry's, and it hissed.

The sword swung back and forth casually in James's hand like a pendulum. He saw the strange reflection again and tried to look at it more closely each time it came into view, wondering what it could be. His father must have noticed, for he stopped swinging the sword and kept it out of Harry's view.

'Any pointers?' James asked jokingly, indicating the snake.

'Don't…let it…bite you…' said Harry, his chest knotted by pain. The smile disappeared from James's face, and he nodded grimly.

The snake seemed to be waiting for him; as soon as James walked into the clearing, it abandoned its circling of the tree and snapped toward him.

The pair danced in a circle around each other. When the snake reared its head to strike, James moved aside at the last instant. As the snake repositioned its shifting coils, he jumped to grasp the snakeskin, but it was too far out of reach.

The snake was dangerously close. Instead of using the sword to defend himself, he used it to reach up into the tree branch and prod the snakeskin until it fell.

As the snakeskin descended, the snake struck.

Harry cried out at the same moment James did; James brought the sword down and cut the snake in two, then clutched the bleeding wound in his thigh. With his other hand, he took hold of the nearly transparent snakeskin, and he hobbled back over to Harry.

As soon as Harry's fingers touched it, it dissolved, and the crystal warmed. Harry could breathe properly again, and he immediately moved to examine his father's injury – but James waved him away.

'It's all right,' said James with a laugh. 'My job's done. See you not too soon.'

Harry held on tightly to his father's hand, not wanting him to go, but it slipped from his grasp as James disappeared.

He leant back against the tree, suddenly too tired inside to move. He knew there was only one fragment of Voldemort's soul remaining, aside from the one within Harry himself, but the thought suddenly struck him that there were still two people he wanted to see: his mum and Ginny.

Which would come? Perhaps his mother couldn't help him any more than she already had; perhaps Ginny was too angry with him for failing her to come to his aid now.

He stood up again because he knew he had to. He was so close, and he remembered that the Order was waiting for him.

Gryffindor's sword lay upon the ground; Harry picked it up and decided to go back to the clearing where he'd met his father. But the forest seemed to be closing in around him; as the branches tugged at his clothes and scraped at his skin, he used the sword to cut himself a new path. He tried to keep going straight, sure that he'd eventually get out one way or the other, but not sure where he'd end up.

Finally he saw light peeking through the branches, and he tore toward it.

The new clearing was nothing like the one in which he'd found his father, but it was exactly like a place he'd visited before with Dumbledore: the cave. He was standing on a tall cliff, and water was crashing loudly below him. The familiar landmark of the mountains was farther away than they'd been since he started his journey, and Harry had the firm feeling that he'd come full-circle.

Not too far off sat a small person wearing black robes. Her long brown hair fell below her shoulders; her legs dangled over the jagged rocks. Who was she?

'Hello?' he called to her. His voice was nearly engulfed by the smashing water.

The woman did not turn, but she did stand up. Seemingly without a moment's hesitation, she jumped off the cliffs, aiming head-first for the rocky waters below.

Harry was sure that he was meant to follow, but he looked down the tall cliffs warily. _Wait, _he realized, _this isn't real, is it? I can't actually _die _here!_

Harry took a few steps back and ran to the edge of the cliff. His jump was not as elegant as the woman's, but it did the trick; soon whatever gravity existed took effect, and he plunged downward like a stone.

He would have been lying if he said it wasn't terrifying.

His body hit the water without the slightest hint of pain, even though his arm smacked a rock on the way down. Then Harry swam toward the dark fissure leading to the cave; breathing didn't seem necessary, but his clothes were still waterlogged. He emerged soaking wet into a very familiar tunnel – and there was the woman, seemingly dry as a bone, her back facing him.

'Hello?' he tried again.

Harry was hoping that she would turn to face him – no such luck. She took the familiar path through the cave, and he felt compelled to follow her. It was pitch-black, but Harry followed the sound of her footsteps; the lack of light did not seem to slow her down. When they arrived at the place where Dumbledore had found a doorway, she touched her hand to the rock, and the door appeared. Barely missing a beat, she continued on her way, Harry trailing closely behind.

He was faced with the eerily still waters that he knew held Inferi in the real world, but something was different about the small island in the centre. As soon as his eyes fell upon it to examine the difference, the pain that had gripped him when he saw the snake was doubled. He keeled over and backed away, only barely stopping himself from falling into the dark depths below.

It was then, his eyes wide open as the pain shocked him with its new intensity, that he saw a horribly disfigured, decaying, corpse-like face in the water. _Inferi,_ he thought mutedly, his head pounding, but then he looked closer. He could _see_ something in its eyes – a glint of sentience that Inferi lacked. Furthermore, its face was contorted in agony.

The strange image he had seen in Gryffindor's sword flashed through his mind – and then he recalled Remus's expression of disgusted horror.

It was not an Inferius he saw in the water.

It was Harry's reflection. This place behind the veil did not show people as they were in life – it showed them as they were in death. Voldemort had marred Harry's soul, had taken part of it for his own, and he saw now how much of himself he had lost.

He sobbed loudly in both physical and emotional distress. Something grabbed his hand, and he wished it was an Inferius dragging him underneath the water into oblivion, but the skin was soft and smooth, and the touch alleviated enough of his pain to allow him to think clearly again.

He looked up into the face of the woman, who gazed at him with pity. Everyone but Harry seemed to be beautiful or handsome here; though the woman did not have classic looks – her face was heavy, almost masculine – there was a gentle expression in her eyes that made her lovely.

But Harry was still confused; he still didn't know her. Weren't people who loved him supposed to be helping him? How could someone he didn't know be here?

The woman's very soft voice quivered as she said, 'My name is Merope.'

He took in her identity and tried to match her face to the woman he'd seen in the Pensieve. Yes, there _was_ some resemblance, but her eyes were not crossed here, and she was not dirty and defeated. Still, she appeared anxious, even fearful.

Harry noticed that the miniature boat had been dragged up from the water. He stared at Merope, who was looking down at their joined hands shyly.

She bit her lip. 'I need to borrow something from you.'

Her eyes fell on Gryffindor's sword. Harry blinked. What did she need it for?

He looked around and reluctantly faced the centre island again. This time, with Merope's presence blocking out the pain enough for him to see it without feeling ill, he noticed that there were long, heavy chains extending from the water. They joined in the centre of the island and wound up in a large ball.

Harry would have bet his soul – and he was – that the chains were enclosing the locket. His heart started to feel the cruel squeeze of the chains against it, and he looked away again.

'Sure,' he told her, and he reached around with the hand she wasn't holding to find where he'd dropped the sword. His fingers found the hilt, and he dragged it forward.

Merope stared at the sword as if terrified to go near it. 'I'm not very brave,' she blurted out. She gazed pleadingly into Harry's eyes. 'I-I've never been very brave, that's why…'

She didn't say anything more, but she didn't need to. Her shoulders sagged in guilt; the homeliness about her returned, and her eyes crossed.

'_She wouldn't even stay alive for her son?' _Harry remembered asking of Dumbledore during his single moment of pity for Tom Riddle. Here was Merope Gaunt, who had given up instead of raising her child, and it seemed as though now she felt sorry.

His first instinct was to not care – to not forgive her. She'd made her choice, she'd taken the coward's way out, and others had suffered for it.

'_Do not judge her too harshly,_' Dumbledore had told him. _'She was greatly weakened by long suffering, and she never had your mother's courage…'_

He realized that Dumbledore was right. If she was willing to do whatever she could to help her son now, even belatedly, surely that was worth something. Besides, what choice did he have?

In one swift movement, Harry lifted the sword and pointed its hilt toward her.

'Take it,' he said. He tried to smile encouragingly. 'You can do it.'

She stared down at the sword in surprise and tilted her head to run her gaze down the length of the blade. Her small hand closed around the hilt finger by finger; when her grip was tight, Harry let go completely.

Merope smiled, just a little, and Harry realized that those may have been the only words of encouragement she had ever received.

'I'll try,' she said. 'Thank you.'

When her other hand abandoned his, all the pain that had built up within him exploded. Harry blacked out.

He suddenly returned to consciousness, his eyes snapping wide open as though he'd been doused with cold water. Something was being pressed into his hand hard enough to leave a mark; Harry looked and saw that it was the locket, which was already dissolving. His eyes fell upon a small, blocky female hand as its fingers slipped into the murky water.

Lengths of broken chains were scattered on the island.

Harry slowly got to his feet. He felt empty inside as he caught sight of his twisted reflection again; even though he'd found all the pieces of Voldemort's soul, it seemed like he had impossibly far to go before retrieving the missing part of his own.

'I need to leave,' he said out loud, sensing that this would have its intended effect – death had no hold over him. A bright light appeared behind him, in the entrance to the cave, and Harry walked through it, bracing himself for what he'd find on the other side.

* * *

The brightness dissipated as Harry's feet hit the solid stone of the dais. 'Hermione?' he called immediately, unable to see as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. 

No answer. 'Hermione? Ron?'

No one was there. Deeply worried – _How long have I been gone?_ – Harry felt his way down the steps of the dais, nearly tripping on the last. When he leapt back into the central room, wand at the ready, no one was there.

Where was the Order? He looked around at the doors; Hermione's marks were still on them. _They wouldn't have left without me. _They would only have moved if they were attacked; either they'd moved into one of the other rooms, or…

_Don't think about that._ They couldn't be. He had to stick to the plan. Hermione was supposed to have returned to the veil and given him what he needed, but she hadn't, so he had to find her instead.

His attention was immediately drawn to the golden X on the door. Hermione had marked it differently from the others for a reason; perhaps she'd thought to look there first?

The door in question led to a surprising place – surprising because of its absolute normalcy. It was a narrow corridor with evenly spaced wooden doors, each with a nameplate. Several were shinier than the others, which Harry took to mean that they were newer, especially given the names on them: _Antonin Dolohov, Amycus Carrow, _and _Augustus Rookwood, Department Head_.

The door to Rookwood's office was ajar.

He walked in, wand at the ready. The first thing he noticed was a man – probably Rookwood – propped stiffly against the desk. He was clearly under a Body-Bind Curse.

'Harry?' called Hermione's voice from behind the desk.

'Hermione?' answered Harry as he stepped around the man. Hermione was crouched behind the desk, focused intently on an open drawer of Rookwood's filing cabinet.

'I'm looking for it,' she told him. She huffed in frustration and shut the squeaky metal drawer, only to open it up again a second later. 'How did your task go?' After examining the drawer for only a second, she shut it again and then repeated the process; Harry was so engrossed in watching her and wondering how she was seeing what was in there without eyes that he was slow to answer.

'Um, fine, I guess. I got them all.' The thought of his own reflection still haunted him; Harry looked at his face in the shiny reflection of the filing cabinet, and it seemed normal, but he knew what he was on the inside. With an injection of urgency, he asked, 'Where are Ron and the others?'

'I don't know.' Hermione didn't look up; the drawer rolled shut again. 'The Death Eaters attacked in force, but the Order was doing all right. Ron got caught up in a duel and told me to go on ahead. Rookwood nearly killed me on his way out of the office.'

Harry flung a dirty look at Rookwood's back. 'No luck yet, I guess?'

Hermione shook her head. 'No, but the drawer contains something different every time I open it; it's got to be in here somewhere.'

With Hermione searching the drawers and the Order nowhere in sight, there was nothing for Harry to do, and being useless made him antsy. 'Found anything yet?' he asked less than a minute later.

'No.'

Another minute later, after poor attempts at pacing (for the room was crowded with Rookwood), he asked, 'Found anything yet?'

'No.'

Not much later, he asked again, 'Found anything –'

'I'll tell you when I do, Harry,' she answered with a hint of reproof. He clapped his mouth shut and sat in Rookwood's plush office chair, trying to be patient.

But he kept his eyes on the door.

Harry noticed when Hermione didn't close the drawer again as quickly as usual. 'Found something?' He tried to see around her to what was in the drawer, but all he could see was darkness.

'I think so,' she said in an excited voice. She reached down shoulder-deep into the drawer and felt around the edges. 'I can see it, but…'

Harry was going to ask how Hermione could see anything without eyes, but the next moment, a bright flash of green light smacked into him, and he was faced with the familiar tugging sensation of almost-death.

When he was reborn, Harry was standing in front of the filing cabinet where Hermione had been – and Voldemort, with Ginny's smile, was pointing his wand at him. Harry glanced toward Hermione, who was struggling against Rookwood's grip.

'Well, well, well. It took me far too long to track you down. How will you wiggle out of this one?' He cocked Ginny's head toward Hermione. 'Surrender or she dies, Potter. I tire of chasing you.'

'No!' cried Hermione. 'Harry, don't!'

'Silence her,' ordered Voldemort, not daring to point his wand anywhere but at Harry. Rookwood cast a Silencing Spell.

_Let me die_, Hermione mouthed at Harry.

Harry shook his head.

'Why not let her die?' asked Voldemort with a sardonic laugh. 'After all, she's damaged goods…'

Voldemort pulled off the blindfold over Hermione's eye sockets, and Harry couldn't bear to look away. He was shocked by what he saw, but suddenly everything about Hermione's recent behaviour made sense; she possessed two roving, magical eyes like Mad Eye Moody's. One stared at Voldemort, and the other had spun backward in her head, presumably staring through her skull at Rookwood.

Voldemort sneered derisively. 'What is your decision, boy?'

Harry couldn't let Hermione die for him, but he also couldn't give up on his plan so easily – not when the lives of the rest of the Order were at stake (if they were even still alive), not to mention his own soul. He had to convince Voldemort to release her…but why would he do that?

'I'm waiting…impatiently,' said Voldemort. 'Five, four, three, two…'

'Wait!' cried Harry. 'Wait, you can't. I –' And then, in the nick of time, the solution came to him – at least, he hoped this would work. 'You owe me a life debt. Let her go,' Harry said commandingly.

Ginny's eyebrows rose as far up as they could. '_I_ owe _you_ a life debt? I think not!'

'You do. My mother saved your life once, remember?'

Voldemort appeared thunderstruck; Hermione's mouth hung open. 'What?! How could you…'

'I know all about it. My mother saved your life, but you didn't save hers, did you?' Harry's disgust, unlike his confidence, was not feigned. 'It wouldn't have taken you much effort to just Stun her instead of killing her, but you were _afraid_ of her by that point, weren't you? She was why you chose me as your equal instead of Neville Longbottom – she frightened you more than any Auror.'

Harry could tell that he'd struck a nerve. Ginny's face was disfigured by Voldemort's blind rage. 'Shut up!' He stuck his wand between Hermione's breastbone. 'Shut up, or I'll –'

'Your life debt to her has passed down to me!' shouted Harry as if his words would ward off any attempt on Hermione's life. 'You owe me, Voldemort! A life for a life! Let Hermione go – she's no threat to you! Let her live and we'll be square!'

Voldemort was breathing wildly. His eyes caught Rookwood's for an instant, and Harry didn't need Legilimency to know that he was embarrassed that one of his followers knew of such a smear on Voldemort's wizarding honour. Harry doubted that Rookwood had much longer to live.

He composed himself quickly, hiding his displeasure behind a callous smirk. 'Very well, Harry. By all means, let her go, Rookwood.'

Hermione sensed Rookwood's moment of surprise and, apparently not trusting Voldemort's sense of honour any more than Harry did, capitalised on it before he could move to release her. She wrenched her wand from his hand. '_Stupefy!_'

Rookwood collapsed. Voldemort turned his attention to her, and in that instant, Harry acted.

'_Stupefy!_'

Ginny's body was slammed out of the room and into the hallway. Harry rounded the desk, grabbed Hermione's hand, and ran out of the room, passing the recovering Voldemort and bolting toward the door.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Harry asked her. He pushed Hermione to the floor as a curse streamed past the point where her chest had been; then he pulled her up and kept moving.

'About…what?' she asked breathlessly

'The eyes!'

'You never asked!'

They leapt through the door, and the wall spun behind them. Harry knew it wouldn't be long before Voldemort reappeared.

Hermione tugged at Harry's sleeve and opened her palm upward. In it was what she had been searching for: the key – the last piece of the puzzle, aside from Voldemort himself, who had been easily led to the Department of Mysteries by Harry's mere presence.

Hermione stared up at him with her unnatural eyes that still managed to communicate her determination. 'We need to find the locked door.'


End file.
